


Unconditionally

by SammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst Dean, Blood Drinking, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Caring Dean, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Crowley is a Little Shit, Emotional Castiel, Evil Sam Winchester, Family is important, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, Pissed Dean, Post Season/Series 07 Finale, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is sorry, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam and Dean Fight, season 8 AU, these tags are crazy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7231555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammyWinchester/pseuds/SammyWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean and Cas disappear after killing Dick, Sam resorts to drinking demon blood in a desperate attempt to find his brother. But what will happen when Dean returns from Purgatory and finds out? Can the brothers overcome the demon’s curse on Sam a second time? AU to season 8. Warning: Spoilers for Season 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who I Am Without You

Sam Winchester wiped the blood trickling from his nose with the back of his hand and smiled with grim satisfaction at the charred wooden planks underneath the now unconscious man he had tied to a chair in the middle of the empty house they were in. His eyes narrowed for a second when they fell momentarily on the faint red paint that made up what was left of the demon trap he’d made earlier that day.

He waited, motionless, while the pounding in his ears faded before stepping closer to the man he’d pulled the demon from. The soft, steady sounds of inhaling and exhaling assuring him his captive was still alive. The man appeared young, probably early twenties, and was dressed in a simple t-shirt, pants and sneakers. Definitely not rich but he didn’t look like a bum either. His short brown hair stuck to his face, filled with dirt and sweat but Sam caught a whiff of deodorant and aftershave as he sat back on his hunches to stare the man in the face.

“Hey. Wake up.” Sam roughly shook the man’s shoulders. A barely audible groan was the only response. The hunter slid his hands down to the pockets of the man’s pants and pulled out a cheap leather wallet on a chain from the right one and a plain flip phone from the left. Without so much as checking the driver’s license to get a name or street address he dug out the two twenty dollar bills and shoved them in his own pocket before dropping the wallet carelessly on the young man’s lap. The Impala needed gas and he needed food.

Flipping the black phone open he checked that it was charged and had bars. Nodding his approval he set the phone next to the wallet and used the demon blade to cut the ropes from the young man’s arms and legs. He could feel the man stirring and worked faster.

As soon as he was done Sam stood up and stared down at the limp form before him. A pang of guilt washed over him, just like it had every other time, at what he was about to do. It had been months since he’d stopped helping the people he pulled demons from, but he still couldn’t completely rid himself of the guilt. Couldn’t shake how he felt a little more dead inside each time he walked away.

Sam wasn’t sure if it was the demon blood coursing through his veins or the fact that everyone he cared about was dead, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. At least not enough.

The demon couldn’t have been possessing this guy more than a few days if the phone was still charged, and they weren’t more than ten miles from town. He would be fine.

With a final glance around the room Sam turned and walked away.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam scowled at his own reflection in the rearview mirror of the Impala as he maneuvered the car along the winding dirt road back towards town. Most of the softness was gone from his hazel eyes, his hair was longer but other than that he still looked like… well Sam. But he shouldn’t, he should look like…

“A Monster.” Sam ground out, gripping the steering wheel so tight he feared it would somehow break as a wave of self loathing washed over him.

It had been a year since they’d killed Dick. A year since Dean and Cas and vanished. Since Sam had been left completely alone and had started drinking demon blood. Again. At first it had been nothing more than a grief ridden, desperate attempt to find his brother and their angel friend. The only way he could hunt monster solo and always win.

But no one had seen them and Sam had lost count of how many demons he’d tortured, how many leviathans he’d tortured and killed. Yes killed. He’d found out that with enough demon blood running through his veins he could even kill leviathans, though he didn’t unless he needed to because the effort left him drained for days.

When the raw anger and grief had died down some Sam had tried to stop. But there wasn’t enough willpower in the world to keep him from the disgustingly sweet blood he craved with every fiber of his being. He’d broken every single hand cuff he’d used in a vain attempt to restrain himself. He had no one to help him this time, like his big brother had done seemingly a lifetime ago. Memories of being locked in Bobby’s panic room made him wince, that had sucked. The physical pain and heart wrecking hallucinations he’d had of himself, of Dean, taunting him had been some royal bullshit. The feeling of being eternally alone in an endless waking hell still caused despair to clutch his chest.

The second time had seemed even worse somehow, even though he’d only drank one demon. Fleeting memories of asking, begging Dean to lock him up. Cas’ slight nod of approval? Understanding? It was so hard to tell with that angel sometimes. Dean’s look of pity, angst, dread. He’d saved them, but that didn’t even seem to matter. No, all they could see was a freak, someone that needed their pity or a knife to the heart, maybe both.

Then there was darkness, filled with pain, fear because he couldn’t tell what was real, there was no sense of time, only an endless nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He remembered crying Dean’s name, Cas’ name, until his throat was hoarse, pleading with them to help.

They hadn’t come, they didn’t understand, they didn’t _care_ … Sam shook his head to chase away the unwelcome thoughts. He wished he could wipe his mind clean of those days.

Still, short turning himself over to one of those recovery programs or something, which he wasn’t going to do because he knew he’d be locked up and any hope he had of finding Dean would be lost, he’d done everything he could to stop on his own. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t strong enough.

Now he’d stopped trying. Instead he focused on fine tuning his abilities. Moving objects had become second nature, he could even pick locks with his mind. He was way stronger now, he barely used his gun and knife nowadays. Hell, he didn’t even need lighter fluid or a lighter anymore, a simple snap of his finger would ignite most anything.

But with every drink he took of that red poison he could feel his humanity slipping away. Each drop a stain on his soul that couldn’t be removed.

The sun was disappearing below the hilltops as Sam parked the car in the small, gravel covered, parking lot of the no-name motel he was staying at. He pulled the keys from the ignition, unlocked the trunk and threw his pack over his shoulders. He never left his stuff in the motel rooms in case he decided to skip town while he was out.

Not even bothering with the keys Sam swung the motel’s door open with the slight twitch of his fingers and dumped his bag on the single queen-sized bed. Grabbing a half empty bottle of demon blood from the little refrigerator under the stained enamel sink Sam chugged some down while flopping down on the bed to google pizza delivery in Delphi, Indiana.

Finding two listings and settling on the less crappy looking one he searched his pocket for his phone and realized with mild annoyance that he must have left it in the Impala. Turning the light switch on with a mere glance in its general direction, his hazel eyes scanned the rundown room. Nothing.

Sam sighed, wondering if any amount of demon blood would allow him to teleport objects, before heading towards the empty parking lot. Well, almost empty. Besides the Impala there was one other car, an old rusty ford truck that he could barely make out as a light tan under the light of the faint street lamp.

Locating his phone on the passenger seat, the hunter frowned at the screen that said he had one missed call and a new voicemail. Guilt once again settled in his stomach like a ton of bricks. He hoped it wasn’t Kevin. The boy had called him several times over the past months asking for his help and he hadn’t responded once. In the beginning because he’d been too overwhelmed with his own anger and heartbreak, too busy kicking himself for not having somehow been able to save his brother, too caught up in his frantic quest to find Dean.

Sam squeezed the phone so hard the plastic case cracked a bit. Now it was because he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to reply. This realization scared him a bit. He wasn’t afraid to go at it alone or hesitant to show Kevin what he had become. He simply didn’t feel it was his problem anymore.

Steeling himself Sam dialed his voicemail with shaking fingers and held the phone to his ear. The rough voice on the other end made his blood run cold and his breath catch in his throat.

“ _Sam, I got out. Call me.”_

Sam jerked the phone back like it had suddenly burst into flames, staring at the screen in disbelief. He’d longed to hear that voice for a year now. A voice that for so long had always meant security, trust, family… Dean’s voice. Anxiety pushed back the relief that flooded over Sam at hearing his brother’s short message. Dean was okay, was alive! Dean was going to kill him.

“No…” Sam slumped against the side of the Impala, and rubbed a hand over his face. He’d always reasoned in his mind that Dean would somehow be able to forgive him for going dark side yet again on the premises that he’d only done it to save him. Just like Sam had eventually forgiven Dean for selling his soul in Cold Oak. Dean would be happy to see him, to know he’d even been willing to use the part of himself he despised with a passion to save Dean from whatever nightmare he’d been trapped in.

But Dean had saved himself, or someone else had. He didn’t need his little brother. Sam had failed, again. And now there was nothing standing in Dean’s way of hating him for the freak he had become. Dean wouldn’t forgive him this time, had hardly forgiven him the first time. Sam wasn’t sure he could handle the disgusted looks and words of rejection that would inevitability occur if Dean ever found out. Knowing the one person he cared about and looked up to the most in the world didn’t trust him, thought he was a monster, nearly broke him.

 _If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you_.

Sam gritted his teeth as the emotional pain and self loathing he’d been suppressing bubbled up again, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. His hazel eyes scanned the dim parking lot as if the answer to all his problems could somehow be found there. Of course it did no good, life didn’t magically go back to being less then complete shit.

Hot tears of relieve mixed with remorse and self hatred threatened to spill over as Sam slid to the ground, head in his hands. The cold metal of the Impala supporting his back seemed to be the only thing holding him in reality. This wasn’t how it was suppose to end. Either way he would be hurting Dean, whether by having him think his little brother disappeared off the face of the earth or by him finding out Sam had once again resorted to blood drinking in his absence.

In utter despair Sam lifted his head to the night sky and prayed. Something he hadn’t done since the first night Dean had disappeared. “Castiel… Cas, if you’re out there... I… I need your help. I really messed up this time.” He closed his eyes. “Please.”

Silence. No flutter of wings. No calm flat voice asking why he’d called. Sam peered around. No dorky angel in a trench coat. Maybe it was for the best, he wasn’t sure that Cas wouldn’t smite him on the spot, wasn’t sure he didn’t want Cas to do just that.

Sam sighed as the last of his hope faded, to be replaced with bitter resignation. Yes, he truly was still completely and utterly alone.


	2. No Rest For The Wicked

"Damn it!" Dean growled, throwing his phone to the passenger side floor of the stolen truck he was driving.

"Where are you, Sam?" He asked the empty air around him, wiggling his nose as the stink of stale beer and old food insulted his nostrils. Would it hurt people to clean out their vehicles once in a while?

He'd been calling Sam's only working number all day now with no response and he was starting to worry. Why wasn't the younger Winchester getting his message and calling him back? Or at least picking up the freaking phone!

He'd tried locating the phones with gps after his little brother had failed to return his calls, but none of them had been turned on. Why was the world always working against them?

When Dean had appeared back on earth in the middle of nowhere (actually the middle of nowhere in Maine, but he hadn't known that at the time) he'd managed to hitchhike his way into Greenville with an old camper who was leaving after his weeklong stay in the 100-mile wilderness. From there he'd stolen this old ford truck, because it was the easiest target around, and driven all the way to Augusta Maine before finally stopping and getting some much needed food and rest.

Luck had been on his side for once and the phone charger hanging from the cigarette lighter had fit his phone. He'd stopped in Greenville long enough to get another 30 day phone card and some water. He figured after being gone for a year it was safe to use his old number without anyone catching on right away. Besides, he'd hoped Sam had left him a couple messages at least. He really needed to hear his brother's voice, even if it was only a recording on a shitty cell. He was slightly disappointed to find Sam had only left him one message, dating the same day he'd disappeared.

" _Where are you, dude? Crowley took Kevin, but I got away... You just disappeared." Sam sounded like a lost puppy when he said the last part, but he'd seemed to have regained most of his confidence as he continued. "But don't worry, I got the Impala and I'm going to find you."_

He'd smiled slightly at the mention of his baby, but his relief had been short lived. Obviously Sam hadn't found him, and hadn't left any more messages to indicate where he was or if he was still okay.

 _Or if baby is okay…_ Wow, that seemed heartless. But he'd be damned if he didn't admit he was really missing his car right now. Sam had better be taking good care of it!

Dean pushed his foot to the petal, willing the groaning truck to go faster, while pushing thoughts of the Impala to the back of his mind. A million possibilities playing themselves out in his mind about Sam, none of them good. If something had happened to Sam while he wasn't there to protect him… Dean shook his head. No! He couldn't think like that, Sam was alive, he had to be.

"I could really use some help right now, Cas!" Dean glared ahead angrily at the endless stretch of highway. After their escape from Purgatory the angel had disappeared without so much as a goodbye. After all they'd been through together, how could he just leave?

Several moments passed where the only sounds that could be heard were the truck's tires running on the asphalt and Dean's heavy breathing as he fought to keep his building panic and frustration under control.

"You're a dick, Cas." He didn't really mean it, but his concern for his baby brother – and his beautiful car okay! - was clouding all other rational thoughts from his mind. Since being cast into limbo Castiel had been acting like his old self again, which lend to the conclusion that if the angel wasn't answering it was because he didn't want to and not because he was off somewhere obliviously covered in bees.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, Dean retrieved his phone and dialed Sam's number for the tenth time since he'd left Clayton Louisiana a mere hour before. Straight to voicemail, again.

_This is Sam. Leave me a message._

"Sam! Answer your damn phone dude, this isn't funny."

This was getting ridiculous! Two and half days was plenty of time for Sam to get the message and reply. And now that he'd found Benny's bones and repaid the life debt to his vampire friend his only other goal was to find his little brother. And Dean Winchester did not give up that easily!

Luckily Sam had something else that could be tracked without the use of gps, but he was going to need some help.

At least he better have it, and it had better be in perfect condition.

A big green sign told Dean the town of Monroe was twenty miles ahead of him. Twenty miles that suddenly seemed like a lifetime.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"More coffee, please." Sam told the pretty blonde waitress, who was smiling at him politely, before returning his attention back to his computer screen. After receiving Dean's message he'd driven all night, needing to put some distance between himself and the situation, as if that was possible.

He'd finally stopped in Springfield Indian at a Denny's right off the main highway 72 that ran through the state's capital city. Even hopped up on demon blood he was still human and couldn't go forever.

"Here you are, sir." The waitress, who couldn't be more than thirty, said as she poured more steaming coffee into the cup in front of Sam. The hunter looked up and smiled at - he glanced at her name tag- Miley tiredly.

"Thank you." He mumbled, trying to sound normal, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like this girl could possibly know what was going on. She nodded and was off before he could dig deeper into his new found paranoia.

Sighing, Sam closed his laptop and reached for the coffee, hoping it would wake him up. Driving all night coupled with the inner turmoil he'd been battling since hearing Dean's voice had drained him more than he was willing to admit. He'd been searching for any signs of demons in the area, but so far nothing was jumping out as demonic in nature. There were a few cases of missing people, but in a town this big that wasn't surprising.

Shouldn't you be dealing with the real problem right now? Sam felt a stab of guilt, Dean was probably worried about him. Or was he? He hadn't sounded that worried on the phone, more like "let's get down to business".

He took his phone from his jacket pocket and stared at the screen numbly. He desperately want to know where Dean was, if he was okay, and what he meant by getting out. Where had he been?

The brief, overwhelming, desire to call his brother, tell him everything and beg him to understand, washed over Sam. Maybe they could meet somewhere far away from all this and Dean would help him, like he always did, to kick his addiction in the ass and they could go back to being brothers. Expect they hadn't been like that in years, not since Dean had gone to hell. Not since Sam had started drinking demon blood in the first place.

Sam shuddered at his own memories of hell, of seeing Lucifer, and eventually being driven to insanity by his own mind and the inability to sleep with the devil constantly singing in his ear. Dean had been so worried and pissed that Sam hadn't told him how bad it was really getting. And then Cas… Cas had saved him, but at a terrible cost to his own sanity. People always ended hurt when they were around him.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Sorry Dean, you're better off without me." He muttered sadly to himself. That's all it was. Dean would be better off. Not that Sam was too ashamed to fathom looking his big brother in the eyes, not – as much as it pained him to admit – that he enjoyed the power, the rush of adrenaline, the taste…

He grabbed the computer once again, the drive to ensure he had a steady supply of demon blood forever pulling him back to the hunt.

Finally he dug up some info about a small town no more than a days drive from Springfield where several people had been having more than their fair share of good luck. Two young women had won the lottery, twice. A former homeless man had become the CEO of a successful law firm and a sixty year old lady had died suddenly, leaving her fortune to the black sheep of the family, whom - her other children were swearing - was never on the will.

Sounded like some crossroads demon deals for sure.

Sam yawned as he finished his third cup of coffee. He definitely needed some sleep before he did anymore driving. His current blood supply should be enough to get him at least three days, so there was no big rush. Expect sitting around will give Dean a chance to catch up. If he knew his brother, and he did, Dean wouldn't give up that easily and Sam knew firsthand how good the older Winchester was at tracking him down.

Just thinking that hurt, god it hurt! Dean had always been his life line, the thing that kept him going, had always stood up for him. Even when their father told him he might have to kill Sam, even when Gordon had tried to kill him because he was tainted, Dean had his back, refused to give up on him. Even when he'd lost faith in himself Dean was there to pick up the pieces.

Until they'd gotten into a fight and Sam had left with Ruby, and instead of calling to tell him they were family no matter what, like Dean had always done in the past when they had their augments, Dean had said he was a blood sucking freak, a _vampire_. Maybe it was true, but man, it had felt like a knife slowly craving out his heart coming from Dean.

 _It still hurts_. He shouldn't have to be running from his own brother like he was a criminal.

Why couldn't Dean just believe in him like he once had? He'd messed up true, but he thought letting Lucifer possess him and jumping into the worst part of hell should have made by for that. After everything, even though his brother didn't trust him anymore, he'd still been willing to sacrifice everything so Dean could live a normal life. He hadn't done it for the world, he'd done it for his brother.

After paying his tab and asking Miley for directions to the closest, cheapest motel around, Sam went to leave. For a second he stopped, hand hovering over the open top of a trashcan, cell phone clutched tightly in his fingers. Just letting it all go appealed to him in so many ways. Hanging onto hope was hard.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Sam let his shaking arm fall back to his side, phone still gripped tightly as if it was the last thing on earth he owned. Letting go was hard…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The drive to the motel went by uneventfully. Miley had been right, it barely took ten minutes to get there and the place was a dump. The parking lot had so many potholes, maneuvering the Impala around them all proved next to impossible. Half the letters on the old neon sign that stated "Cedar Creek Motel" were burnt out, the others flickering like they would die at any second. Even the peeling paint appeared to be the original from probably sixty years age.

But Sam didn't care, he just wanted a bed to sleep on and hopefully enough hot water to take a long shower.

A bored looking teenager, dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, greeted him at the front desk.

"Just a single?" the boy asked, already typing something into the computer in front of him. "Cash or credit?"

"Yes." Sam replied, digging in his wallet for cash to pay the kid with. He frowned at the crumpled bills in his hand before handing them over. After paying cash at Denny's and filling the Impala he only had fifty three dollars left, forty five of which he'd just handed over to the motel clerk. He had credit cards, of course, but Dean would be able to track those. Meeting up with Dean needed to be on his terms, when he was ready – whenever that was.

"Here's your key." Sam jerked at the sound of the boy's annoyed voice, just now realizing he'd been drifting off in thought, and hurriedly grabbed the room key with a quick "thanks". He thought he heard the kid mutter "Yeah, whatever," as he made his way back to the Impala to gather his things. What the hell did that kid have to be so pissed about anyway?

The inside of the room didn't look much better than the outside. The fainting flower wallpaper was peeling in spots, revealing the gross looking, green paint underneath and the carpets had so many stains Sam couldn't let what was a stain and what was the normal color of the carpet anymore.

"This sucks." The hunter wiggled his nose in detest as sitting on the bed cause a cloud of musty smelling dust to rise into the air. He set his duffle bag and cooler at the foot of the bed and went to check on the shower.

Thankfully the bathroom was a little nicer than the rest of the motel. It had a few stains on the walls of the shower and the paint was flaking, but the towels didn't smell too bad and the water ran hot. There was even – a loud but working - ceiling fan.

Sam stripped his clothes off and stepped gratefully under the steady stream. He sighed softly as the water washed away the grim and eased his aching muscles. He let his hazel eyes slip close for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure. Only now noticing how tense he'd been before, finally being able to relax felt like heaven. If only water could wash away all the taint and guilt he felt, if only it could cleanse his body of the ever-present craving for blood.

Sam stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, using the complementary shampoo bottles to wash his sticky brown hair. He almost felt like his old self again.

After drying off and getting dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, Sam was just about it pass out on the top of the sheets, without even bothering to pull back the covers, when he sensed a presence. Something had pulled up in the parking lot, something evil, something demon… Sam's month watered at the thought of fresh demon blood.

With newfound energy Sam walked over to the dirty window and peered outside through the curtains.

Two black men dressed in suits stepped out of a dark blue dodge charger and signaled something to each other before one headed in to the main office while the other walked over the Impala. The demon looked the car over for a moment before its gaze turned to the window Sam was watching from.

The young Winchester stepped back a bit, already going over the best way to gank the demons without anyone noticing. He hadn't seen Crowley since Dick's death, but he was pretty sure the King of Hell had sent these demons - just like the ones a few weeks ago - to check on him. An easy source of blood was always welcome, but he didn't like the idea of being on Crowley's radar. Sam was confident he could take the cocky bastard on easily in a straight up fight. But since when did Crowley fight fair? He always seemed to have some sleazy trick up his sleeve.

"You're both going down." Sam smiled slightly as he muttered under his breath. Just then he heard a shuffling at the door to his room. He knew it was the demon without having to see it.

The demon let out a startled gasp as Sam threw the door open from where he stood by the window. He held his hand out, fist clutched tightly, as he pulled the unwilling creature inside the room. The door slammed closed just as quickly as it had opened, covering the room in darkness.

The startled demon glared frantically around the room, trying to see its enemy. "Show yourself!" he snarled, trying to get his feet under him.

But Sam was too fast, he didn't need to see, he could feel the demon's presence and the way it struggled as he grabbed hold of its soul with his mind death grip. Sweat trickled down the young hunter's neck as he flung his captive against the motel room wall, effectively knocking him unconscious.

Panting with the effort and shaking with exhilaration, Sam practically jumped the demon like a starved animal, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the man's neck. His eyes rolled back slightly as renewed power flooded his veins, his body giving into the pleasure. He drank until his stomach couldn't hold anymore, kneeling on his knees, and wiped the back of his hand across his face.

Satisfied.

Even as the human part of him howled in revulsion, screamed at the taste, the feelings, the smells, nagging at the back of his mind like a sore being prodded with a knife, hating itself. Another part felt good, powerful, _happy_. Yes! He couldn't let anyone take this away from him, not even Dean.

Heart still beating frantically, Sam dug a clay bowl out his duffle bag and cut the demon's neck with his knife, watching as the thick red liquid pooled in the bottom of the vessel. He used the blood to refill the bottles stashed in the cooler he'd brought in earlier.

Task complete, Sam groaned, slumping against the side of his bed while pressing his hand to the floor to steady himself as his body started to come down from the high. His head lolled against the mattress as he eyed the limp form at his feet, gaze drifting to take in the whole scene.

Blood splattered the already stained carpet and the wall now sported a large indent. Pieces of drywall stood out in stark contrast against the dark maroon carpet and blood, a glimpse of ugly green here and there completing the mess.

Nice. He thought longing of the bed supporting his weight and how much he yearned to climb into it and sleep for a week. But, of course, that was an impossibility now, he had to smoke the other demon and get the hell out of dodge

With a barely contained whimper, Sam forced his unwilling limbs to pick his groggy self up off the floor, and staggered to the door. He leaned heavily on the frame, waiting for the dizziness to fad as his body equalized the previously consumed demon blood.

Soon Sam felt his strength return, washing away the drunk, bone weary sensations. Shrugging his shoulders the hunter peered out into the parking lot, his heart sinking when he heard a lady screaming.

Sam rushed towards the main office, pushing past a confused couple who were probably going to investigate the noise. The man glanced at him as he ran past them.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Stay back!." Sam shouted, already kicking through the closed door. He quickly took in situation, his hazel eyes meeting the green terrified eyes of a young lady. His eyes softened when he saw the child – probably no more than two – clutched tightly to her chest.

"It's okay." He assured her gently, holding his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Barely had he gotten the words out when a whoosh of air slammed into Sam's chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. There was another scream, a disorientating ringing in his ears. The room swam around him as he suddenly lost control of his body. An involuntary grunt escaped his lips as his head smashed into something solid.

The next thing Sam knew he was laying in a tangled heap, back against the wall, the remains of a broken table digging into his backside.

"You've been a hard one to catch lately, Winchester." The other dark skinned demon that had exited the car earlier laughed, his eyes black as night. "Crowley sends his regards."

"Crowley can go screw himself." Sam hissed, pushing himself into sitting position. He chanced a quick glance at the scared girl and her kid. She looked between the two men, her pale face scrunched into a defiant look only a mother protecting her child could muster in the wake of such unknown danger. Regardless, tremors that could be seen with the naked eye shook her slight frame

"You've been killing too many demons lately. He let you live to kill leviathans, not us. Word is you've racked up quite a number in the last year." The demon bared his teeth, continuing his slow approach towards the fallen hunter.

"I don't have a no-kill list when it comes to you evil bastards!" Sam snorted, his voice dangerously low.

"What about her?" suddenly the demon was behind the lady, a knife pressed to her throat.

"No!" rage colored Sam's vision red, just as his pulse quickened in response. How dare this scumbag threaten an innocent woman and her child?

Before the demon could react, Sam flung it halfway across the room with a gesture of his arm, his hand quickly curling into a fist as he drew the creature from the man's twitching form. Black smoke poured from his mouth, pooling on the floor before dissipating completely, leaving nothing but a charred spot on the worn carpet.

"You're going to be okay." Only after breathing the words did Sam realize the lady had fled the lobby. Not that he could blame her, to the average person this was some messed up shit. I think it's messed up.

A small crowd had gathered outside the building, a couple people gasped as Sam walked through the still open doorway. The rest muttered nervously to each other, sending quick glances his way. They all fell back in fear as he moved by, his gaze not meeting their faces. He took no joy in knowing normal people were afraid of him, it only serviced to drive home that he was indeed a monster.

Barely a minute later Sam had his belongs and was fumbling for the keys to the Impala, hands suddenly clammy with cold sweat. The shrieking of tires on asphalt hailed his exit as the car peeled out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.

Chance a brief look in the rear-view mirror the young man caught a glimpse of his face and smirked coldly, his face was still smeared with dried blood and he had white dust in his hair. No wonder people were afraid of him!

He reached up and rubbed vainly at his mouth. He soon abandoned the effort, too worn down to be concerned.

Sam turned sorrowfully to the empty seat next to him, remembering all the times Dean and him had bailed in the same manner. Most of those times were good memories for him, he'd always felt kind of bad ass doing that with his brother by his side. Like they were a couple of superheroes making a cool escape just for the fun of it. They'd always turn to each other and laugh afterwards, sharing a rare moment of unmasked brotherly bonding. It was in those instances that he'd truly felt like it was them against the world.

The smile faded from Sam's lips as he returned his gaze to the road ahead of him. Those days were gone, along with any innocence or joy they'd once had. Buried in the weight of lies, good intentions gone wrong, and an ocean of distrust and unresolved pain. How could they have let their relationship get this bad?

An ache of heartbreak stabbed through Sam's chest, making breathing near impossible. "God, I miss you, Dean…"

Maybe if I hadn't… he swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill over. No matter how much blood he consumed he couldn't purge his mind of all the ways he'd failed Dean. The memories remained, haunting his dreams, dragging him so far under he couldn't possibly dig free.

Sam drove, not caring where, until the sun had long since sunk behind the mountain tops and his tired eyes were drifting shut on their own.

Pulling into a turnout, Sam parked the car as far back behind some trees as he could before climbing into the back seat. He crunched his lanky legs against the far door, using his jacket as a pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable bed in the world, but he'd had worse. And frankly, the young Winchester was too exhausted to care.

Sam drifted off into a restless sleep. His dreams filled with monsters, the ending always the same; Dean looking him dead in the eyes, the word monster on his lips – before he stabbed a knife through his little brother's heart.


	3. We can't be brothers

A familiar buzzing filled the air, way louder than it should be, drowning out every other sound like the roaring of thunder. So close yet so far… Try as he might, Sam couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Or what it belonged to… his mind felt foggy like he’d drunk too many beers. And the light… there was light everywhere, blinding him, yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t stop staring into, couldn’t even cover his eyes. His hands wouldn’t obey what his brain was telling them to do. An invisible vice held his head fast…

Sam jerked awake with a gasp that turned into a moan when his stiff neck and shoulders protested the sudden movement. Sleeping in cramped quarters always sucked the next day. He squinted at the bright, midday, sun that streamed in through the tempered glass of the Impala’s backseat window. He’d slept a lot longer than he’d wanted, exhausted from the past two days.

Sighing, Sam rubbed the nape of his sore neck with his hand gingerly as he sat up and tried to stretch his long legs in the confinement of the car. At least the sun was out of his face in his new position, but a wave of dizziness forced him to close his eyes and lean against the headrest. Bile rose in the back of his throat as his stomach protested yesterday’s diet consisting of mostly coffee and blood.

“Ugh…” the young man grumbled miserably, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to fight the urge to puke.

Buzz. Buzz. His phone.

A pained smile formed on Sam’s lips, that’s what he’d been hearing. And his feverish mind had been blowing the noise out of proportion in his dreams.

Without even opening his eyes, Sam fumbled around until he found his cell in his jacket pocket. He lifted the device to his ear, head still resting against the seat, while a shaky thumb pressed where he knew by heart the answer button was on the screen.

“Uh ‘ello?” Sam slurred, pinching his nose with his free hand as he felt a headache coming on. He really needed some water, and probably some blood…

“Sam? Is that you?”

Sam bolted upright, instantly regretting the quick motion, as a roll coaster of emotions hit him all at once upon hearing the familiar voice on the other end. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he found he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. Guilt, shame, a whole lot of regret, and _relief_. Oh how relieved his was, in spite of everything. The demon part of him wanted to hang up, to run far, _far_ away and be free with his powers. Alone he was strong, his family made him weak. But under it all was that undying love that he’d been trying so hard to ignore, to erase. He couldn’t, it was as much a part of him as his very soul. It kept him from going completely dark side. _If only…_

“Dean?” Sam breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His throat tightened as he tried to maintain control, his heart pounding so loud in his ears he was sure Dean could hear it.

“Sam? Sam! Talk to me, man! Where are you? I’ve been calling you like a god damn frantic housewife all day.” Dean’s voice betrayed a mixture of irritation and relief. “Are you okay?”

“I… I’m okay… Dean, I…”

“Just tell me where you are, Sam, now. Do you have baby?”

The nausea returned full force as the younger Winchester opened his eyes to survey his surroundings, as if he was going to tell his brother, and realized he didn’t even know. There was a thick forest of trees on three sides, and the empty highway to his left. Hours away from Springfield, that’s all that was certain at this point.

“Not sure…” he finally answered. “I’m in… the Impala.”

“What? Focus, Sam.” There was a slight pause. “Are you drunk?”

Sudden anger flared in Sam’s gut. “No!” he growled with too much force. “You know, I haven’t talked to you in a year, I had no idea what happened to you and-”

“Okay, Okay. Sorry.” Dean interrupted impatiently. “Just tell me where the hell you are and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No… you need to stay… away.”

“W-what? Why?” concern, and a little bit of what could only be panic, clouded out some of the annoyance in his tone. “What’s going on? Let’s just calm down and talk about this, don’t-.”

“J-Just stop, Dean…”

“Look, you listen to me. Whatever it is, I don’t care. We can fix it, we can get through it, okay?”

Sam sighed heavily, pressing his lips together. How he wished that were true, and for a fleeting second he thought maybe… but the situation had gone too far this time, there would be no going back. No escape from himself, from what he had become.

“I can’t… control myself, Dean. I thought you were dead, but now....”

“Hey, don’t get all sentimental on me now, save that for when I get there. You understand me?” Dean was trying to sound authoritative but Sam could tell from years of experience that he was getting more desperate.

Brief memories of the message Dean had left him right before he’d killed Lilith flooded his _conscience_. Not only did it reopen those old wounds, tearing at his already fragile self-esteem, but it also stirred the old anger he felt towards his big brother. Dean didn’t trust him, never thought he could do the right thing on his own. Sam had tried his whole life to be just like his brother, because he looked up to him. But Dean thought he was a failure, someone who needed a chauffeur to keep him out of trouble.

“Sam? Please, Sammy…”

Sam lost it, barely managing to drag himself out of the car before puking thick, green bile onto the rocky earth. The phone slipped from his clammy fingers and clattered to ground beside his heaving form as he pressed his hand against the side of the Impala to keep his balance. He choked on the foul taste and sea of emotions he couldn’t suppress.

_He called me Sammy…_

Dean was still talking, but he couldn’t understand a word he was saying. It didn’t matter, nothing could be said that would make a difference.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, how long he knelt there retching his guts out, wishing he could crawl into a hole and disappear, but it felt like an eternity. When he finally collected himself, wiping the moisture from his mouth with the back of his hand, Sam grabbed his phone and brought it up to his trembling lips. Dean still hadn’t ended the call.

“Dean?”

“Damn it, Sam! Don’t do that. Did you hear anything I said?” The older Winchester’s voice was shaky, betraying his concern in spite of the force in which he spoke. “What happened? You don’t sound okay, man. Are you alone?”

“I’m fine.” Sam nodded, as if trying to convince himself, he felt his strength returning now that he’d emptied his stomach, and he knew what he had to do. “Look, Dean. Listen to me. We can’t be together anymore, I’m glad you’re okay, I really am. But you have to stay away, I’ll be fine, just don’t… don’t look for me.”

Feeling his heart break even as he uttered the words, Sam closed his eyes and whispered. “We can’t be brothers anymore.”

“What? Wait! No, _Sam_ -”

Sam ended the call, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tightly – before angrily throwing his phone across the clearing. It bounced off a rather large rock, a spray of tiny plastic shards reflected the sunlight for a brief moment as the screen shattered. Then they were falling like rain to the earth, sounding almost like water droplets hitting a metal roof.

Panting slightly, the hunter pulled himself to his feet and climbed into the Impala. Gripping the steeling wheel, he glanced back for a second, some of the anger leaving his face. He wished things were different. Wanted more than anything to wake up and find this was all a bad dream.

Turning away, Sam started the car, shoved it into gear, and peeled out of the turnout. The Impala’s tires slipped on the loose dirt for a second before lurching forward, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Sam? Sam!” exhaling sharply, Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and stared blankly at the screen. Just as he’d feared, his little brother had hung up on him. The overwhelming sensation of being kicked in the stomach washed over him. He let his body sag against the side of the old ford truck he’d just stepped out of a mere ten minutes before.

He was standing in front of a small mom and pop suit store, but he’d decided to call Sam one more time, hoping to avoid playing detective to find his own brother. Sadly shaking his head, Dean tossed the phone onto the passenger seat of the truck, biting his lip unconsciously.

He was really starting to worry, he’d fully expected Sam to be happy to hear from him. He certainly hadn’t anticipated having to _beg_ him just to get basic information like “where the hell are you?” And what was with this “we can’t be brothers anymore” crap? Didn’t the kid know there was nothing on this earth that would come between them like that? There was nothing Dean cared about more than his brother, but sometimes he felt like Sam didn’t have the same priorities.

“Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” He ran a hand through his hair, he was really starting to _miss_ Sam, he could really use some of that annoying optimism of his right now. But it seemed his brother had gone off the deep end in his absence. They needed each other, even now, and he wasn’t about to give up.

A fluttering sound jolted Dean from his brooding and he whipped around, his eye darting across the parking lot as a tiny spark of hope flicked in his chest. Swallowing his nerves he murmured. “Cas?”

To his great disappointment, his angel friend appeared as elusive as before. He would have gladly hugged him in public at this point. If only he would show his face!

A middle aged man, dressed in a black suit and tie, gave him a questioning look as he passed by. “Are you ok, sir?” he furrowed slightly, causing wrinkles to appear on his forehead and half bald scalp. His mostly grey, short hair blew in the breeze and he appeared amused by Dean.

Eyes wide, Dean quickly shook his head, scowling at the interruption. “Yep. I’m just fine.” He replied like it should be obvious. Shrugging, the man continued on his way, mumbling something about kids these days, as he went.

He quickly rescanned the area, just in case, before sighing and heading into the store, his unease growing with every step. Cas was in the wind and Sam was avoiding him like the plague, could things get anymore screwed up? At least in Purgatory the rules had been simple; kill the monsters before they killed you.

After picking out a dark blue suit and blue and grey tie to match, Dean headed for the dressing room. He didn’t want to waste time stopping somewhere else to get changed, the longer he waited the more anxious he was going to feel.

Stripping of his jacket and jeans, Dean put on the new clothes, smiling at his reflection in the long body mirror as he straightened the tie into place. He looked good, all things considered. Much better than he felt, that’s for sure. Running a quick hand through his unruly hair the hunter nodded in satisfaction and headed to pay for the items, his jacket slung over his shoulder.

He handed the plump lady behind the register the price tags he’d removed and a credit card he prayed still worked.

She looked up uncertainly as she went to run the card, eyebrow raised slightly in questioning. Dean put on the most charming grin he could muster as he tried not to fidget under her scrutiny, cold sweat breaking out on his neck and trickling down his back.

“Everything okay?” he asked sheepishly, laughing a little at the end.

The lady eyed him again, but said nothing as she returned her attention to the screen in front of her. The transaction seemed to take forever, and just when Dean feared he was seconds away from the police being called, the lady handed him back his card and thanked him for his business.

Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Dean nodded. “Anytime, ma’am.”

He left the store as quickly as he could without being too conspicuous, shuddering in an attempt to shake off his nerves before climbing into the truck. What the hell was that? He shook his head, that had been horrible, he was really losing his touch. But hey, it wasn’t like he’d had much time to practice his people skills while he’d been in Purgatory. Regardless, he would need to do better than that at the DMV if he wanted even a chance of receiving useful information.

_And avoid going to jail for impersonating a federal agent._ For the second time since he’d arrived back in the land of the living, Dean was thankful Sam wasn’t there, – the first time being when he’d drained Benny’s soul on to his bones and brought the vampire back to life. He highly doubted Sam would approve of that either – his little brother certainly what have gotten a kick out of his dreadful performance. All over something as simple as a fake credit card. He wasn’t in the mood for Sam’s teasing.

His relief, however, was short lived. What if Sam had meant what he’d said? What if he really didn’t want to be brothers anymore? Dean hardly felt he could handle never speaking to, let alone never seeing again, the only family member he had left. He swallowed the lump in his throat as his chest tightened with sudden panic. Above everything else he’d always had one job – protect Sammy. Well, it was pretty hard to protect someone that was who-knows-how-many miles away.

“I swear, Sam. If I find out you left me high and dry for some girl, I’m going to kick your ass five ways from Sunday.” Dean growled out loud, turning his sorrow into anger before he could start getting all emotional. Though he had the sneaking suspicion the younger Winchester was guilty of far more than smooching up some poor broad.

Studying the map of Monroe that was sprawled out in his lap, Dean wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. This was why he hated big cites! Every road had three numbers and four names attached to it, and in spite of the endless roads it was nearly impossible to go straight where you wanted to from any given point. Too many one ways and dead ends.

Screw this! Tossing the map aside he grabbed his phone, resisting the urge to call his brother and either yell at him for being a little bitch or beg him to listen to reason, and punched in the coordinates for the DMV into google map. Sam might understand that kid scribble of lines and tiny names, but he wanted step by step directions.

Finally satisfied with his ability to get where he was going, Dean pulled the truck out of the parking lot and into the heavy traffic of Monroe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I need any information you have on this vehicle.” Dean handed over the piece of paper he’d written the Impala’s license plate number on to the younger woman behind the desk, than stood patiently waiting. He’d had time to give himself a pep talk during the hour it had taken him to find the DMV and was feeling more his chill self. Though he still felt every second here was making it that much more likely that he wouldn’t be able to catch up to Sam, wherever he was.

The woman’s blue eyes widened a bit in surprise, her pony tail bouncing as she looked from the paper to Dean’s stern face. “Um, okay. Can I see your badge again?”

Sighing inwardly, Dean reached in the pocket on the inside of his suit and flashed her the fake federal agent badge with a small smile. Luckily he’d had one of his fake badges on his person when he’d been sucked into Purgatory, because he did not fancy the idea of taking time to dig up a guy to make him a new one. This particular one stated he was one Agent Wesson.

“Thank you, Agent.” Shrugging in what looked like acceptance of a situation she didn’t really like, the women typed the digits into her computer.

Dean stood, his arms crossing his chest and trying to look as patient as possible, nodding politely at the other people in the lobby who kept glancing his way. He couldn’t shake the antsy feelings that surfaced every second he wasn’t on the road, moving towards… towards somewhere!

After what seemed an eternity the woman handed him the piece of paper back with a sad shake of her head. “Sorry, Agent Wesson, but this car is registered in Kansas, I don’t have access to any of the records.”

Dean wanted to grab her up by the shoulder and straggle her while shouting he needed to find his brother, who might be in a whole lot of trouble, and this was wasting time he could be spending looking for him. But instead he looked her calmly in the eyes. “Well then, I need to talk to someone who can call up the DMV over in Kansas and get the records for me.”

The woman looked around uneasily, causing Dean to feel a bit of sympathy for her, she appeared flustered by this whole situation, and he supposed she didn’t have to deal with these kinds of things often. _Lucky._ He thought to himself.

“Why, again, did you say you needed this information?”

“Oh, I didn’t.” Dean replied, stalling for time to think of something, he hadn’t anticipated having to go into detail. People sure had tightened up during the year he’d been gone. He continued when the woman kept staring at him, obviously not going to go farther without getting an explanation from him. “The vehicle is suspected to have been used by a murderer as a getaway car, so naturally we’re following through on all possible leads.”

“Oh, I see.” The woman appeared slightly taken back by his answer. “Let me just see if Sheriff Williams is here.” With that she scurried off.

She returned several moments later and motioned for Dean to follow around the front desks and down a hallway. She stopped two doors down and nodded for him to enter.

Thanking her, Dean pushed the door open, glancing at the name plate that said Sheriff Williams, before closing the door behind him.

“Good day, Agent Wesson.” The sheriff greeted him warmly, waving Dean to sit, but the hunter remained standing tensely by the door.

“Can you help?” Dean got right to the point.

“I should be able to get the records by the end of the day.” Williams replied, stroking his grey hair back thoughtfully, not the least bit offended by his guests rude behavior. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are the feds doing trailing a possible stolen car?”

“We’ve been trying to catch this guy for awhile, ya know? He’s killed a few people.” Dean responded smoothly. “Me being a new recruit and all I got left with the grunt work. I just go where they send me.”

“Okay, I understand. We just don’t get many feds caring about stuff like this is all.”

Dean grinned, doing his best to sound casual. “Well I care, so that’s got to count for something.”

Williams snorted softly but nodded. “So you have a number I can call you when I get the records faxed here?”

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting those records any quicker?” Dean pressed hopefully, though he knew from experience he was lucky to be getting them the same day at all.

“Sorry, you know how slow these things are.” Williams shook his head as if he was just as annoyed with the slow process.

Disappointed, Dean nodded. “Yeah, well here’s my number. Call me as soon as you get anything.” He wrote his phone number on the back of one of the business cards he snatched from the card holder on Williams’ desk, and handed it to the sheriff.

“Will do.” He assured before getting up and walking Dean to the door, he was short and stocky and he huffed with effort as he moved, something that made the hunter smirk inwardly. “See you soon, Agent.”

Dean wasted no time in finding the nearest bar, he needed something to calm his nerves and alcohol always seemed to do the trick.

The nearest bar ended up being a biker bar just down the road. The smell of sweaty bodies and stale cigarette smoke insulted his nostrils the second he stepped into the establishment. The place was dimly lit with shaded windows, giving the feel that it was already night outside even though it couldn’t be past 2pm. He could barely make out the silhouettes of two burly bodies turning to glance at him from a table in the corner before both men went back to drinking their beers.

Aside from the bartender, the two men in the corner were the only ones there. All the better, Dean didn’t feel like making small talk with a bunch of strangers.

“What ya havin’, honey?” the bartender, who appeared in her mid 30s, asked sweetly. She flipped her flowing black hair back and walked confidently over to where Dean had taken a seat at the bar, nearly thrusting her half covered boobs in his face as she leaned over the counter. Normally he would be hitting on her, saying some smart remark about how he loved girls in leather, and Sam would be rolling his eyes, groaning in mock disgust, making that funny little face he always did, to which Dean would proudly tell him not to wait up. But Sam wasn’t here, and in spite of how long it had been since he’d gotten laid he didn’t really feel in the mood.

“Whiskey.” He muttered, not moving from his hunched position on the bar stool.

“Yeah, okay.” She replied, seemingly put off by his lack of interest. But when she returned with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey, she continued as if nothing had happened. “Work problems?”

Dean narrowed his eyes in confusion before realizing that he was still in his suit and tie.

“Not exactly, just didn’t have time to change.” The hunter gulped down the amber liquid in one swig and motioned for another.

“Pissed off wife?” the bartender, Amy, asked as if it was an everyday question. Which for her it probably was, Dean realized with mild amusement.

“Brother issues, actually.”

“Oh.” Amy sounded sympathetic. “My little bro can be a pain too. But you gotta love ‘em anyway.” She shrugged, pouring Dean his third shot.

“Yeah, well he’s the only family I got. I’d do anything for him, you know?” Dean was talking to himself more than anything else, but Amy nodded anyway.

He sat in silence for several minutes as he let the alcohol numb his pain and any other senses he might be having. Amy went about cleaning behind the bar, leaving him alone in his ponderings, and with the whole bottle of whiskey sitting without arms reach. The first couple days after he’d returned his sole thoughts had been on getting back to hunting, the hunger to kill monsters still burning in his veins. He needed to get back to his job, hunting things, saving people, it was the only thing that gave his life meaning. But now, faced with the possibility of losing Sam forever, none of that seemed very important anymore, suddenly the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. It had always been him _and_ Sam hunting together that made his life whole, he was nothing without his brother.

Kicking back the sixth shot in an hour, Dean was starting to feel pretty drunk. He took out his phone and squinted at the bright screen. “Well, Sammy. Looks like you win.” He slurred. “I mean, I’d do anything for you, but you know… you don’t want to be brothers anymore… so whatever, that’s cool.” He shook his head angrily, almost falling off the stool as the world swayed around him.

“Ya know, if you wanna get out of here, I get off in an hour.” Amy placed a plate of chicken wings in front of Dean. “These’ll help.”

“I don’t got anywhere to go.” Dean snorted, ignoring the food. “I’ve got nothing, nothing for my trouble.”

“Well I gotta place, we can go there.” Amy reached out and gently gripped Dean’s arm, causing him to look up into her rich brown eyes. She had long eyelashes and pretty red lips, lush and glistening with too much lipstick, that he suddenly found irresistible.

“How about I get a hotel room.” He grinned widely, beyond caring; he might as well get laid, if the sudden hardness in his pants was any indication he could definitely use it. “And you drive us there.”

“Yeah okay, sweetie.” Amy winked before nodding at the cooling chicken wings. “Eat.”

Just then another customer walked up to the bar and she rushed off to help him, leaving Dean staring none too subtly at her retreating ass with a stupid look plastered on his face. He leaned heavily on the counter while chewing on the wings, he is actually hungrier then he’d thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later Dean and Amy were walking towards the motel room Dean had paid for with his credit card, the hunter leaning heavily against the slim woman by his side just to keep from keeling over onto the sidewalk beneath his feet.

“Oh, slow down!” Amy chuckled as Dean swayed dangerously when he tried to shove the key into the hole in the door knob. She barely managed to catch him enough so he has time to fling his free hand out and catch himself against the door frame.

“Hey, ‘m fine.” Dean assured her, shifting so his shoulder was supporting his weight because he couldn’t seem to get the key in the damn hole, so perhaps two hands would work.

Shaking her head in amusement, Amy took the key and turned the knob once she had it unlocked and they both half walked, half fell into the dark room. Dean had gotten two queens out of habit, and he can barely make out a small table with two chairs pushed under it at the back of the long room. There were blackout curtains hanging over the single window, letting in just a hint of light around the edges. A shared nightstand stood against the wall between the two beds, a small lamp placed on its surface.

Amy helped him stumble awkwardly over to the nearest bed, and he sat down heavily on the creaky mattress. Okay, so this place wasn’t a four star resort, but it would certainly serve their purpose just fine. She left him sitting on the corner of the bed and hit the light switch.

As soon as the light flicked on Amy screamed, an ear piercing, girly scream that sounded like it could break glass. “Who is that?” her eyes were wide, a panicked look on her face.

“Uh?” Dean slowly followed her pointing finger to the edge of the room – where a figure was standing by the window. “Hm…” he muttered in disinterest while he tried to force his blurry vision to focus. The person looked oddly familiar…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Chapter updated because I reread it and decided it sounded to Destial-ish and that's not what I wanted. Hopefully it's better now. Sorry guys, us writers are human too lol

The figure took a single step towards them, moving completely into the light of the incandescent blubs overhead. Dean held up his hand as if to warn the person off, his other hand fumbling for the gun he knew he had stash somewhere in the waist region. His hand brushed against cold metal and he gripped the weapon tightly, but his fingers weren't cooperating and try as he might, removing the gun from its holster proved impossible.

"I… I got a gun." Dean threatened. At least he thought it was threatening, but judging from the stranger's reaction he'd failed in that account. _Great, I can't even scare someone, let alone actually grab my gun._

Straining his burning eyes he could just make out a mop of messy, dark hair atop the stranger's slightly cocked head, loose clothes hanging from broad shoulders, the shadow of a beard – so a guy? - and the way he stood there, calmly, his eyes shamelessly staring with the intensely born only of overconfidence, _just like…_

"Cas-tiel?" Dean asked in disbelief. He managed to stand upright, legs and one hand still pressing against the bed to prevent himself from toppling over. He really shouldn't have drank quite so much.

"Ya know him?" Amy's voice shook as she glanced nervously from between the two men.

"Hello, Dean." Cas nodded briefly at the woman before turning his attention back to the groggy Winchester.

"Cas… what the hell?" Dean blurted out, didn't know whether to feel relief that his friend was here or furious that he hadn't answered until now. And he sure had crappy timing!

"Seriously?" the bartender sounded less scared and more annoyed now as she moved over to Dean's side. "What's goin' on? How did ya get in here?" she nodded at Cas.

"Yeah, um." Shaking his head as if he'd just realized Amy was still there, Dean waved his hand in the angel's direction. "He has an… um annoying? Habit of just popping in whenever he feels like it."

"I'm an angel." Cas stated to the latter question with a slight smile.

Amy snorted, causing Cas to narrow his eyes a bit in what looked like confusion, he still appeared surprised every time someone didn't believe his little "I'm an angel" line. Dean almost felt sorry for him, wondering how it would feel to be aliened everywhere you went.

"Yeah, sure." she looked the filthy man up and down critically. "So what, you're a hobo angel or somethin'?"

Frowning, Cas looked down, seeming to really notice the grim on his clothes and hands for the first time. "This is just a vessel."

Dean laughed bitterly. "I'd go with "or something" personally." He slumped back against the bed with a sign, the effort of holding himself upright when the world refused to stop spinning around him proving too much.

"Well, I don't believe in angels." Amy crossed her arms over her large breasts. "But I would like to know how ya got in a locked room without a key. What, are ya a criminal or somethin'?"

"Are you okay?" the angel asked Dean, ignoring the girl, concern apparent in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm just fine, Cas. Thanks for asking." Dean grunted roughly. _Why can't the world just leave me alone for five minutes_? He felt a pang of regret when he noticed Cas avert his gaze, but Dean was beyond the capability to filter his reactions. Too many shots coupled with the well of raw emotions boiling up inside him chased all ration thoughts from his mind.

"I'm sorry I didn't-" Cas started before Dean cut him off, exploding angrily.

"You know what? Save it, Cas!" he yelled, causing Cas to fix his blue eyes intently on Dean's face as Amy backed up nervously. "We spent a year together, fighting to get out of Purgatory and the second we're free you flutter off… without so much as saying goodbye! So forgive me if I'm not bouncing off the walls here to make you feel welcome."

"Dean, I'm sorry. That's not what-" Cas' voice was as steady as ever but he appeared crest fallen, like he'd expected a warmer welcome from his friend, well maybe he should have thought about that before he rushed off, the whole disappearing act was getting old. _Freakin' angels._

"Just shut up!" Dean's voice shook with fury as he lunged at Cas, fully intent on punching him square in the jaw. Except he didn't make it three steps before tripping over his own feet, and falling flat on his face – almost.

In a flash Cas was by his side, gripping his shoulders tightly, supporting his dead weight, trying to steady him, even as he continued slamming his fist as hard as he could (which he had to admit was pretty weak) into the angel's chest. Dean twisted in Cas grasp, trying to break free of the firm hold, forcing the angel to wrap strong arms around him and pull his head against his neck to prevent them both from collapsing to the floor.

"Let go!" he growled low in his throat, knowing full well he'd crumple to the floor without the support. He didn't care, he wanted to be left alone… he wanted the room to stop spinning!

"Dean, you're drunk." Cas said, warm breath blowing over Dean's ear as he spoke.

The overpowering smell of dirt, sweat, and something that couldn't quite be defined – but was undeniably Cas – filled Dean's nose as he let his forehead rest on the other man's shoulder. He was still pissed but far too spent to fight any longer.

"W-why did you… leave?" Dean wanted to sound demanding but his voice faltered, just as trying to lift his arms to push the angel away failed. He only managed to grope awkward fingers against the coarse material of Cas' shirt before he was gripping the collar of that ridiculous trench coat just to keep his balance.

"That portal wasn't meant for angels, going through it weakened me." Cas explained. "I've been trying to reach out to you, but I didn't have the strength yet."

Dean felt his anger dissolve some, leaving him shaky, and strangely hollow inside.

"Look." The uncertainly in Amy's voice made Dean turn to face her, hoping she wouldn't leave, though his brain couldn't concoct a good reason for her to stay. "I don't know what kinda weird, kinky stuff ya guys are into, but I don't do threesomes." She backed up slowly towards the door. "So … I'm just gonna go." She reached behind and opened the door, slipping out as quickly as she could.

Dean watched her leave with a sad expression, he'd really been looking forward to drowning his sorrows with meaningless sex. "You're cock blocking me, dude." He laughed deliriously, tipping his head up to glare at the angel. Their faces were mere inches from each other now. And Castiel just kept staring, like he didn't understand the concept of looking away. "Unless, of course, you're offering?" he grinned at his own joke.

"Offering what?" The angel asked. Dean stiffened, unprepared, as Cas started caressing his back gently, noticing the angel's brow wrinkling in confusion, poor guy had no idea what any of that meant. "Let's get you on the bed." Cas said.

"Wait." Dean relaxed a bit, okay, so maybe Cas wasn't half bad at this whole back rubbing thing. It felt pretty good actually… and his feathery ass owned him one after chasing his girl away. "I need to talk to you."

"Talk about what?" He felt Cas hook his arm over his shoulder and try to walk towards the nearest bed, but Dean resisted, looking up with sad eyes that threatened to spill over.

"Cas…" Dean panted, his head hanging limply as he clutched Cas' dirty coat, desperately trying to get the angel to listen to him. "Sam… he's… Sam is gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"He… he wouldn't answer… phone…" Dean trailed off, trying to catch his breath, suddenly feeling a heavily weight in his chest, a fogginess in his brain, pulling him towards the merciful void of unconsciousness. "Then he… he said he didn't…" it was too painful to even say out loud. How could Sam do this to him? He'd once thought family was forever, but now it seemed theirs was the frailest relationship of all.

_You and me against the world._

"Didn't what?" Cas pressed, breaking the silence after several moments.

"He didn't want… to be…" He scrunched his nose as a foul taste coated his tongue. Speaking the words out loud somehow made the pain and rejection worse. "brothers."

"That doesn't sound like Sam." Interjected Cas, finally managing to stumble close enough to the edge of the mattress to lower Dean onto the flower patterned comforter. "I'm sure he had a reason."

Dean let his head lean against Cas's solid shoulder, too afraid to move lest he hurled chicken wings all over the clean sheets. Cas sat quietly next to him, having little choice after being pulled down by Dean's dead weight. He had an arm loosely wrapped around Dean's backside as if to steady him, or maybe to provide comfort.

"Reason doesn't matter." He pressed his cheek gingerly against Cas' warm neck, seeking solace in the one person, besides Sam, he had left in this hellhole he called his life that he actually halfway trusted. Cas' presence calmed his frayed nerves, bringing back memories of huddling together for warmth during the cold, endless nights in Purgatory, of taking turns standing watch because, for some reason, the angel had needed to sleep there. Benny had helped sure, and it was thanks to him they'd made it out at all. But it had been Cas' unwavering calm presence that had kept him grounded, even as the days blurred together, Cas who'd picked up the slack – letting Dean get much needed rest at night – when Benny went ahead to scout out their path, sometimes for days at a time. And it had been solely Cas keeping him warm when starting a fire would have only drawn in a horde of monsters; vampires were dead, and therefore cold, after all.

Even covered with grim, Cas' skin was soft, like velvet, against his face. And, were they cuddling right now? He vaguely wondered if it was strange to be okay with cuddling another man when it wasn't necessary. He wasn't in danger of freezing now. Honestly, he didn't really know or care, gratefully letting the angel hold most of his weight. Cas showed no intention of moving as Dean listening to the familiar breathing pattern, forever strong and steady.

"He's my brother…" Dean could feel himself losing his grip on reality.

A moment of silence stretched out before them, neither one moving, both content to say nothing.

"You and Sam have been through so much together." Castiel rested his chin tentatively on Dean's head, feeling the hunter relax against him, the short hair tickling at the underside of his throat. He had little experience dealing with such raw emotion and wasn't sure what the proper response detailed.

Even after spending years on earth, and a whole year in Purgatory with Dean, he still found humans to be quite fickle creatures, and just when he was sure he'd finally figured them out they would do the complete opposite. The year they'd spent running from monsters had been total survival mode, too focused on not dying to worry about much else. And Dean had seemed so strong through it all. Now he seemed broken, like a child who'd just lost his parents to a horrible fate.

"I'm sure you can work through whatever this is." Castiel's voice was gentle as he rubbed Dean's arm with his palm, pulling his friend into a tight embrace. It was something he'd seen Sam and Dean do when one of them was really distraught. And as best he could tell, this was one such occasion. The soft huff Dean uttered made Castiel wonder if he'd overstepped his bounds. He tried to remember all the times they'd shared space over the past year. Dean had definitely been okay with it then, but he had to remember context, and that humans were easily put off by acts of affection if done wrong.

"It is going to be okay." He raked his other hand through Dean's short hair, hoping to alleviate his friend's torment.

A soft snort escaped Dean, a sound of utter despair and unrelenting guilt. Not the reaction Castiel hoped for. "You don't understand. I can't…" a hiccupping sob forced its way past his lips. "I can't do this alone."

"You are not alone." Castiel shifted a bit closer, inhaling softly, uncertain what he could say or do it make this better. He found it strange that Sam wouldn't want to see Dean after they'd been separated for over a year. Perhaps there was more going on, or maybe Dean was just blowing things out of proportion in his drunken state.

"Yeah, you're here." Dean replied solemnly, than quietly whispered. "And… you're family."

Castiel raised his eyebrows, feeling a strange flutter in his chest at the praise; even though it came from a rambling man who was exhausted and beyond drunk. He knew the warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach was a happy human emotion. _Dean still thinks I'm family?_ He wondered to himself, hoping that to be true and not just beer talking. "Perhaps you should rest, and deal with the problem tomorrow."

"I got to find him, Cas." Dean insisted miserably.

"You're no good to your brother like this." Reasoned Castiel, wishing he could end Dean's suffering. But not even his angel powers could mend a broken heart.

"You stink." Dean snickered, though his voice was losing its edge as he fought to stay awake.

"You smell like alcohol." Castiel stated, sniffing in Dean's scent, something he subconsciously did to every human he met. The smells meeting his nose were all kinds of wrong "And like you haven't been eating or drinking enough."

"Okay, stop doing that weird… angel crap." Dean snorted with annoyance, pushing away from Castiel's grip.

Castiel frowned, head tilting slightly. He wasn't doing anything weird that he knew of. Holding each other was how humans showed assurance and sympathy right? "What "weird angel crap"?" he asked.

"Where… where you… you know… tell me everything that's _wrong_ with me." Dean slumped back against Castiel's arm, eyes closed.

In spite of it all, Castiel smiled, staring at the far wall, wrapping his wings over the both of them protectively, a gesture he'd repeated many times in Purgatory. Of course Dean didn't know that, he couldn't see angel wings after all.

In the silence Castiel listened to the other angels' chattering, they were talking about him; at least some of them were. He tried to imagine what it would be like if he couldn't hear his brothers and sisters, they were always connected, bound together by their telepathic communication. Existence would be lonely, daunting, without their constant presence, always a mere thought away if he needed them.

Perhaps that's how Dean felt being separated from Sam, they couldn't speak to each other's minds, and phones were poor substitutes at best. That could explain why humans were so scared and fragile half the time, whenever their family wasn't standing next to them they might as well not exist at all.

"Hm, Cas?" Castiel was pulled from his thoughts by Dean's feverish voice.

"Yes?"

"Promise… me." Dean turned his head so they were staring into each other's eyes, the hunter's were glazed over and red rimmed.

"Promise what?" Castiel urged when it become apparent Dean's wasn't going to finish his request on his own.

Starting slightly, Dean slurred. "P-promise… me… help find… Sam."

"Yes, of course." Castiel replied without hesitation, brushing his hand against Dean's left cheek, effectively knocking the Winchester out cold. "But for now, you need to rest."

Dean's body slumped and his raspy breathing leveled out as he drifted into a peaceful, angel induced, slumber. He would awake in an hour or two and be fine, thanks to Castiel. Well, physically fine anyway.

Castiel easily picked Dean up bride style and placed him so his head rested on the pillows, before removing his shoes and pulling the covers up over his sleeping form. He inspected his work with a nod of satisfaction before heading to the bathroom to get cleaned up and fix his clothes.

While he mended his trench coat and washed the dirt from his body, Castiel listened to the other angels talking. Most of them disapproved of his close relationship with the Winchesters, particularly with Dean.

Sighing, Castiel looked in the mirror at his reflection. He knew he would soon have to return to heaven, if he didn't he would only be putting those around him in danger when someone come down here to get him. The pain and guilt, remembering all the angels he'd killed during his power tripping, weighted heavily on his heart.

Castiel gripped the sink tightly at the thought of returning to heaven, his breath quickening. Would he be able to live with himself when faced with his failures there? He glanced out at Dean's still form, still - save for the gentle rise and fall of the sheets as he breathed. He'd made his friend a promise, and no matter what he planned on keeping it. He would help Dean find Sam, even if it killed him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam scanned the newspaper in his hand, sipping from the coffee cup in his right hand slowly, as he peered at the waitress out of the corner of his eye. He'd stopped at the first town he'd come to after the phone call with his brother, his stomach demanded real food, and so sick of driving. A knot formed in his stomach at what he was about to do. He hated to not tip let alone leave without paying. But he wasn't willing to give Dean something to track him with by using a credit card, and he didn't have any more cash.

_It's bad enough I'm keeping the car._ Sam thought numbly, examining the black Impala parked in the small diner parking lot through the window. He couldn't bring himself to ditch the car though, the last remaining piece of his broken family he had left.

The heading of an article caught his eye and he set the cup down on the dinner table in front of him, drawing the paper closer. Apparently a whole family had been murdered in their sleep the other night, but the cops said there was no sign of forced entry or wounds of on any kind on any of the victims. That could be a case...

Googling the address on his computer revealed the house to be only a couple miles from the diner, in a small housing development. Might as well check it out.

Sam looked up self consciously, finding the waitress busy and no one else that worked there in sight. Quickly scribbling an "I'm sorry" note on the recipe he slipped out with hardly a sound. He was becoming quite the regular criminal.

Police tape littered the front yard of the newer, two story house Sam pulled up at a few minutes later. But nothing else indicated anything was amiss. The lawn was well kept, fresh paint glistened in the afternoon sunlight, and kid toys dotted the areas by the front porch and garage.

The street was quiet as Sam went around to the car's trunk and grabbed a flash light, the EMF and a pistol filled with rock salt. He glanced around, seeing no one, before climbing the stairs to the porch and hurriedly picking the lock on the door.

A shudder ran down Sam's spine, it was unnaturally quiet. Even in the middle of the day there should some signs of life, dogs barking, kids playing, something.

The inside appeared well lived in, more toys, uneaten food on the table, a roughed up couch facing the TV in the living room, family pictures on the coffee table and walls.

A picture of two boys, probably no more than eight and twelve catch Sam's attention. Looking closer he could see they were squirting each other with water guns, appearing to be having a good time.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, letting out a quivering breath, before moving down the hall towards the bedrooms, gun drawn just in case.

Checking the rest of the house revealed nothing else but more personal effects of the family. No blood anywhere, all the windows were still locked, not a hint of sulfur in the air, the EMF machine showed no activity.

Sam checked under the beds, closets, even the air vents, but there wasn't the faintest clue of anything supernatural. What killed people without leaving any evidence on the bodies or the murder site? Maybe a witch that stopped the person's heart with a spell? But all the witches they'd ever seen liked to mark their presence with gruesome deaths. Plus he hadn't located any hex bags.

His brow crinkled in puzzlement. A trip to the morgue was probably in order, most likely he'd find the answer there.

Sam turned to leave the last bedroom when a wave of dizziness forced him to grab hold of the door frame. _What on earth?_ The room was suddenly swimming in and out of focus as a cold burst of air hit his face, knocking him back a step.

A glimmer of metal to his right… Sam ducked just in time to dodge a large kitchen knife sailing through the air. The blade buried itself in the wall behind him with a thud as his eyes darted around frantically, trying to find his attacker.

Using his power to slam the door shut while backing up against the far wall, Sam pointed the gun steadily at the door, waiting for what he thought was a ghost to appear somewhere in the room.

His heart pounded loudly in his ears as the seconds stretched out. It wasn't like most monsters to wait around and the suspense was making him uneasy.

The temperature dropped sharply. Something grey and semi-translucent materialized in front of him - no wait, not in front of him. In the exact same space he was occupying!

_Shit!_ Sam let a strangled gasp, dropping the pistol, as this _thing_ began invading his being from the inside out, forcing the air from his lungs. It was cold, and crawling around in his insides, as if it was trying blend together with his very soul. He struggled in vain to move, frozen in place by whatever was somehow around and _within_ him at the same time. _Oh, god._ His panic mounted with each passing second, this felt eerily familiar… like getting possessed by Lucifer. _No, no, no…_

Collapsing, gulping for air, Sam's fingers grappled at the hardwood floor as he tried to scream. He only managed a choked whimper, sounding every bit as helpless as he felt. The feeling of being raped all over again made Sam want to puke - and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

_Dean… I really wish you were here right now…_ Sam knew it was his fault.

"Please, no…" he rasped, muscles tight from straining against, well, himself. This thing was taking him over, the sensation of cold water seeping into all his organs filled his mind, suffocating him.

_No, no…_ he'd rather die than be controlled by someone or something ever again.

His eyes fell on the gun lying by his side, his vision blurred as if looking through dirty glass. The pistol lay only a couple feet away, he couldn't reach it with his hand but maybe… using all his concentration Sam used his powers to elevated the gun, slowly, painfully slowly, rotating it until it pointed towards his chest.

Squeezing his eyes shut at the anticipation of pain, Sam pulled the trigger, preying his attacker happened to be a ghost or spirit.

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully this seems less romance and more comfort, while still serving my evil purposes *evil grin*
> 
> Feedback is a writer's best friend :)


	5. Sacrifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who doesn't know, I edited chapter 4 so it doesn't seem so much like this is going to turn into a Destiel fic because that's not what is happening. But that's what I get for writing at 2 in the morning and not rereading lol.
> 
> Okay on to the story!

Castiel sat silently in the center of a desolate field, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around himself as he rested his chin on his crossed arms. Massive black wings fanned out behind him, the feathers rustling as a gentle breeze ruffled through them. Orange light from the setting sun reflected off them, sending prism of color glistening into the air around him each time they shifted. He had no reason to hide them here, miles from any civilization. They made him feel a little more like an angel and bit less like a total failure.

Glancing up at the blue sky longingly, Castiel wished, like he had so many times in the past, things were different. That he hadn't slaughtered so many of his own kind, hadn't fallen in the first place.

His thoughts drifted to Dean, still sleeping in the motel room, and Sam (wherever he was), and a small smile graced his lips. They still thought he had worth, they still called him a friend, _family_ even. They still accepted him, despite the mistakes, even though he barely accepted himself anymore.

His heart warmed a little, the Winchesters were special to him, he'd saved them both from hell, ignored direct orders to benefit them, and he wanted nothing more at this moment than to be considered their family.

At the same time he felt corrupt, no longer a true Angel of the Lord. Angels weren't supposed to feel strong emotions of affection… of _love._ They were driven by loyalty to each other, and duty to the mission, they didn't feel true pain, true joy, not like humans. He hadn't either, until he'd laid hands on Dean, until the brothers had taught him free will. He knew he needed to return to heaven, several of the others had already come to him, imploring him to come home, if he refused long enough one of them would come in their true form to fetch him, vaporizing anything or anyone surrounding them.

Castiel couldn't let anyone else get hurt on his account.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean woke some time later to the setting sun leaking in through the cracks around the curtains and shining in his eyes. Groaning he rolled over, his gaze falling on the empty bed next to him, perfectly made up and un-slept in. The sight made his heart clench painfully.

_Sam…_ he thought sadly, the events of the past few days returning to him with a rush of sorrow. Sam should be in that bed, snorting softly, hair flying every which way on the pillow, long legs flailed casually, taking up every inch of space. Not running around with _his_ baby and telling him they couldn't be brothers anymore. Why did Dean feel like Stanford was happening all over again?

_I'm going to kick your ass, Sam._

Pushing the thoughts aside, Dean grabbed his phone from his jean pocket, frowning at the time. He remembered drinking a lot only a couple hours before, yet he didn't feel the slightest bit drunk or hung over. No groggy aftertaste, no splitting headache he'd become accustomed to. How could that be? Not that he was complaining.

Shrugging, he checked for voicemails, disappointment filling his heart when he saw there were no missed calls, he judged by the time he had about an hour left before the DMV closed for the day. They better call soon…

Dean slung his pack over his shoulder and headed to the bathroom, pulling out his tooth brush and comb he set about the task of cleaning up. His refection in the mirror made him scowl, his hair stuck to his cheek with sweat and the previously new suit was wrinkled from sleeping in them. He thought longingly of the shower but dismissed the idea, staying by his phone and getting the Sheriff's call being more important.

Tidying up the best he could, Dean turned to leave, letting out a startled gasp when he found Cas standing way too close behind him, blue eye staring intently, clean shaven and spotless once again.

"Jesus, Cas! What the hell?" he growled in annoyance, shuddering to shake off the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "How many times do I have to tell you? Personal space."

The angel took a step back, eyes still locked with Dean's. "My apologizes."

"Whatever." Dean walked past him, suddenly feeling awkward when he remembered how he'd been acting before. Letting Cas hold him and all. Cas and him were friends, heck, Cas was family, and yes; they had a stronger bond then most simply because they'd been through so much together. But he knew there would never be anything more there, he'd just been grieving and drunk, and Cas had been available to lean on. But he didn't want to hurt Cas' feeling, what if he'd given the angel the wrong idea? He certainly cared about Cas, and didn't feel weird hugging him or for huddling up the way they had out of necessity in Purgatory. But he felt (though he only remembered bits and pieces) he might have crossed some invisible line between them, and he didn't want, couldn't afford, for things to get weird between them. He needed Cas' help in finding Sam, he couldn't risk anything getting in the way of finding his brother.

_Ugh. I'm never drinking that much again…_

"Look, Cas." He turned back to the angel, whos brows shot up in questioning. "About last-" he been about to say "last night" and then realized it had only been a couple hours. "About earlier. You know there's nothing going on… I mean, I'm not…" Dean scratched his head, trying to come up with the right way to voice his feelings. He hated dealing with emotions. "I like girls." He finished lamely.

"I know that, Dean." Cas replied, head tilted slightly, as if confused. He shifted under Dean's gaze as if uncomfortable, finally averting his eyes to the space behind the hunter.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Dean waited for Cas to say more, which the angel didn't. "You know what that means, right?"

"I do." Cas assured him, his tone flat, though a bit softer than normal. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, because… I don't want you getting the wrong idea…" Dean trailed off, wishing they could just put this little incident behind them so he could get back to focusing on what really mattered. Finding Sam.

"I do not understand." Cas seemed almost sad. "We are friends, right?"

Dean gave him a withering look. _Seriously?_ "No." Dean rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Of course we are, man. Would you just listen for a second?"

The angel didn't respond, appearing dazed, his eyes fixated on something Dean couldn't see. The hunter surveyed the room, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, before stepping closer to his friend. "Um, Cas?"

Still nothing. Cas showed no signs of recognition; hell, Dean couldn't even tell if he was still breathing. Creepy. Like staring at one of those taxidermy animals with the super realistic eyes, swearing it would come to life at any second.

"Hello? You in there?" Dean waved a hand in front of Cas' face, hoping to snap him from whatever trace he'd succumbed to.

Cas' eyes shown unnaturally blue for a moment, like they always did when the angel powered up, still focused on a presence only he knew. Soft, white light glowed around his body, flickering in and out of brightness, shadowing his outstretched wings against the motel wall. No deafening sound filled the air like it had all the other times Dean had witnessed the angel's transformation, and somehow that made it all the more unnerving.

Which is why Dean jumped when the light bulb in the bathroom exploded with a glass shattering pop. _Damn angels, why do they have to break everything?_ He thought, wondering if shaking Cas would be a bad idea.

The light around Cas faded just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Dean in blinding darkness while he's eyes adjusted. His hands instinctively gripped the gun at his side.

Dean felt a hand rest on his shoulder, making him curse under his breath, before realizing it was just Cas.

" _I_ thought we were friends. Obviously. Why else would I rebel for you?" bitterness tainted Cas' voice, but whether it was towards him or just the way everything had worked out, Dean couldn't tell.

"I… what?" Dean blinked, taken back by Cas' behavior. "We- What the hell just happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you were glowing like you were getting ready to smite someone. And you were staring at the wall like a freak." Dean replied, exasperated.

"I… don't know." The angel said slowly, releasing his grip on Dean. "I was not aware anything happened."

Dean nodded, biting his lip to keep his frustration from showing. Why did Cas seem so closed off all of a sudden? "Cas, I don't have time for…" he waved his hands at the angel's chest. "… whatever it is you got going on, okay? I need you to be a badass angel right now. Can you do that?"

"I'm fine, Dean." Insisted Cas, his expression cold, though he appeared restless, as if he would flutter off at any moment.

Dean opened his mouth to argue. Just then his phone rang and all he could think about was Sam. "Don't move." He commanded, pointing at Cas before answering the phone, darning to hope for good news, he knew the chances of obtaining recent info on the car's whereabouts were slim, but since when did impossible odds stop a Winchester?

"Agent Wesson." Williams voice greeted on the other end, he sounded in a good mood.

"Did you find out anything?"

"Actually, yes. Recent too." The Sheriff informed him. "Apparently that car was spotted just yesterday in Springfield Indiana. Reports say the driver killed two men then drove off before the police could get there. They got the plate number off the security camera."

Dean's pulse quickened at the good news, Sam couldn't have gotten too far since yesterday. "Does it say anything else?"

"Just that witness's claim the killer was acting like some kind of possessed person, and that he had magical powers. A lady insisted he killed his victims without touching them." Williams snorted softly. "The tales people come up with these days."

"Without touching them?" Dean prodded. What a weird way to put it. "You mean like, with a gun?"

Another short laugh from Williams. "Like with his mind." The Sheriff paused as if shaking his head. "Like I said, people these days. Crazy."

"Yeah, crazy." Dean laughed nervously, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach all too real. All too familiar dread seeped into his bones. Sam surely had a reason for killing the men, but the same could not be said for the other part of the report. _Just crazy people._ He assured himself. _Crazy people describing what Sam was like when…_

Thick, red blood, dripping from his nose, covering his firmly set mouth and jaw, eyes dark with power and lust, drawing demons out with only an outstretched hand and his mind, so sure he's doing the right thing… acing like some kind of possessed person. _"I can't… control myself, Dean. I thought you were dead, but now..."_ magical _demon_ powers he couldn't control?

_No Sam, you didn't…_

"You still there, Agent?" the Sheriff's question broke Dean out of his angst filled thoughts.

"Yeah." Dean said, managing to keep the fear from his voice. Maybe the killer guy had been another person, and not Sam. A guy could hope. "What's the address?"

After receiving all the info and thanking the Sheriff, Dean hung up the phone, hurriedly grabbing his pack. "I got wind of Sam, so I need you to zap us there." Indiana was two days drive from here, much too long, that would give Sam way too much of a head start.

No answer.

"Cas?" Dean twisted around, take in the empty room. "Freakin' angels!" Screw him then! Time to go steal another car from the parking lot.

He'd just made it to the door when Cas appeared in front of him, again causing his breath to hitch in surprise. "Damn it! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Dean yelled angrily.

"I must return to heaven." Cas' shoulders hunched as he spoke, sounding anything but happy. But Dean couldn't bring himself to care, not with the blow he'd just gotten about Sam.

"Oh, no you don't." Dean grabbed Cas roughly by the arm before he could zap away. "You're taking me to the Cedar Creek Motel in Indiana."

"Dean, I…" Cas shook slightly as he spoke, causing Dean to loosen his hold. The angel, clearly rattled up about something, back away, eyes wide. The action sent a shiver of dread down the hunter's spine. Cas rarely got flustered.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I need to talk to you, I-" Cas stammered. "Can we do this over coffee maybe? I will go get some."

"What?" Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you not just hear what I said?"

"Whatever you want, really. As you know, I don't eat."

"No, Cas. I mean did you hear what I said about Sam? We need to go, now."

"Yes, Dean. I heard you." Aggravation crept into Cas' voice, though he still kept giving Dean a pleading look. "And I will take you wherever you need to go, I just want to-"

"You know what? No! I don't care, okay?" he shoved Cas forcefully against the wall, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say, not caring that the angel could smite him in a second if he really desired to. And honestly, he didn't look like he would put up any kind of fight no matter what Dean did. How could Cas be pulling this crap _now_? Dean really needed Cas on his side right now. Because, for all he knew Sam had joined the dark side, again. "Whatever your little drama is about, it can wait. I need to find Sam now. And you promised me you'd help."

Cas' visibility deflated all the more, eyes darting down to look to the floor at his feet. Had the angel lost it again? Maybe he wasn't as sane as he claimed. Dean shuddered, vaguely recollecting Cas playing Sorry with him. That version of Cas made him want to strangle someone! Suddenly Dean wanted to get as far away from him as possible. He couldn't watch the angel fall apart again, not now. Sadly, Cas posed the best way of getting to Sam, so he'd have to suck it up and pray he wouldn't have to.

"This is important." Real angst glistened in Cas' blue eyes as they searched Dean's face, seeming to be looking for something he couldn't find.

"Finding Sam is important." Dean said, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.

"Yes, but… I really need-"

Something in Dean snapped, reverting him back to Purgatory mode, where the only way to get anything out of monsters was torture. Without hesitation he grabbed Cas' angel blade from under his trench coat and shoved it up against the angel's exposed throat, green eyes burning with fury.

"Take me there. Now." He growled dangerously. "Don't make me do this." Exactly what he planned on doing Dean didn't even know, he hardly wished to hurt Cas but the time for playing games had passed.

Cas remained motionless for a moment as they glared into each other's stone cold gazes, Dean's face muscles twitching slightly. Why were they always having these staring contests? Finally Cas sighed, as one accepting his inevitable fate sighs, bringing his fingers up to Dean's forehead.

The room around them blurred, disorientating Dean, making his head spin. For a second it seemed he was thrust into darkness. Then asphalt materialized beneath his feet, a half burnt out sign flickered to his left, a deserted parking lot to his back, and in front for him a motel lobby. Cas had vanished.

Figures.

He worried over what Cas had wanted to tell him, regret ate at him for a moment at abandoning his friend, seemed that's all he did anymore. But Sam needed him now, and Sam always took first priority.

Dean headed towards the entrance, noticing a single police car parked outside, but aside from that and a bit of police tape around the door there was nothing to indict a murder had gone down here.

A woman and man dressed in cop uniforms greed him at the door, both seeming relieved he was there. Not the norm for him but it could make the job easier, and quicker.

"Agent Wesson." He stated, flashing his badge briefly.

"You got here quick." The woman said, nodding into the lobby. "Good thing to, we could use your help."

Dean grinned. "Well I was in the area." He peered over her shoulder. "So what happened? I mean I know this guy supposedly killed a couple people, but...?" he trailed off, hoping the reports had been fake, or maybe just crazy hippies making up stories

"See for yourself."

Almost afraid to breath, Dean walked around her and into the motel lobby, unable keep the disappointed horror from reaching his face when his eyes drifted to the floor. A semi circle about 6 feet across of charred carpet lay to the right of the check-in desk, and it looked so hauntingly familiar. The undeniable smell of sulfur filled in his nose.

"Weird, right?" the lady cop chuckled lightly, Dean didn't find this funny. "So this guy somehow killed a full grown man, seemingly without laying a finger on him. And there was this burn mark in the carpet under his corpse."

"Pretty weird." Dean agreed weakly, his gut knotting painfully.

"That's not all." She motioned for him to follow. "He killed another man in a motel room he rented out with cash."

"Same way?" Dean didn't even want to know, his worst nightmare unfolding before his eyes. Anger flickered deep inside him; yes, he was angry, but even more upset. Upset Sam had gone back to drinking blood, that he hadn't been there to stop it, that Sam would rather push him away then tell him the truth. _Damn it, Sam._ Sudden guilt leaked into his mind, was it his fault Sam chose to hide this from him? He hadn't been the nicest to his little brother during the time before Dick had sucked him out of this world, but surely Sam knew Dean loved him more than anything else on this cursed rock, right?

"No." She stopped next to one of the doors lining the side of the long, single story building, pushing it open, the door groaned on ill oiled hinges as it swung wide. "This one had his neck sliced and most of the blood drained out." She flicked the room's light on and Dean could see the blood staining the carpet along with a good size hole in the wall. "It appears the blood was collected somehow, because the amount in the carpet isn't nearly as much as would come from a full grown man."

"Any leads on where this guy headed?" Dean walked into the room, ignoring the stab the cop's unwitting words put through his heart, searching for anything that might give him a clue, a sliver of hope indicating Sam was innocent. Aside from the obvious blood and pieces of dry wall littering the carpet no signs anyone had been there remained. _I don't know that Sam is drinking demon blood again._ He repeated over and over to himself, as if thinking it enough would make it reality.

"He took the main road out of here going right, according to the security camera." The lady watched him but remained outside. "We sent someone out, but there's so many roads leading out of town it's hard to know which way he went after leaving here. We're also running a fingerprint check, but you know how slow those are."

"Was there any camera's in the lobby?"

"One, but it appears tampered with." The cop made an annoyed face. "Whoever it was didn't want us to get a good look at him."

"Tampered?" Dean questioned out loud, already sure demons, not Sam, had messed with the tape. "Can I see it?"

"Certainly, but I'm afraid it's not going to do you any good. It went black as soon as the victim walked in, didn't start up again until after he was dead and the murderer gone."

Dean winced at the lady calling his brother a murderer, he wanted to rebuke her, tell her his brother was the most selfless, kind, and down right awesome person he'd ever met. _Sam's not a murderer…_

"Excuse me." He muttered, slowly walking back to the lobby, searching for anything that might help him find Sam. Nothing but that horrible burn spot and a broken table met his scrutiny, After talking to the male cop and getting nothing useful Dean found himself standing in the empty parking lot, the sun slipping behind the mountains to his right. No closer to finding Sam then he'd been before being zapped to the motel.

Rubbing his face, trying to keep it together, Dean swallowed back his pride. "Cas, if you're not too busy being a basket case I could use some help." He waited, listening for the flutter of wings.

Silence met his straining ears, filled only by the occasional passing car or blaring siren.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean's knees buckled, and he sunk to the hard pavement, hands in his lap, as despair threatened to take over.

_Please be okay little brother._

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Cold water splashed his face, bringing Sam back from the darkness, causing him to sputter as some flew up his nose, burning the delicate passage ways. He blinked heavy eyelids, trying to chase away the lingering blurriness from his dry eyes. A musty odor hovered thick in the air as he slowly looked around. He appeared to be in some kind of small storage shed, rusty tools hang from the walls and old barrels lined the floor, some were brittle plastic, some rotting wood.

"Wake up, Sunshine." A young male voice spoke somewhere in the room and Sam looked up, only then realizing he was strapped to a chair, hands tied behind his back and feet tied to the legs of the chair with thick rope. His back protested the movement from the slumped position he'd been in, making him wonder how long he'd been out. But even that discomfort faded out in comparison to the stinging pain in his chest.

There had been something trying to possess him, in spite of his tattoo, and he remembered shooting himself, (rock salt hurt like a son of a bitch), it seemed to have worked. The presence was gone.

"Who are you?" Sam pulled against the restraints which held him fast, finally finding his voice. His capture had a black hood over his head that matched the black cloak he had draped around the rest of his body. Sam could barely make out a pale face, no more than twenty five, and jet black hair poking out from the hood.

"You can call me, Raven, Winchester." The man responded with what sounded like a smile, though Sam couldn't see in the dim light let in through the single dirty window.

"You know me?" Sam glared, looking around for any way to get loose, disappointed to find Raven and taken all his weapons.

"Of course, everyone knows the infamous Winchesters."

"What do you want? Why are you killing people?" Sam tried to use his powers, but he found some sort of wall around his mind, preventing him from throwing the annoyance kid across the room.

"Sacrifices, of course." Raven grinned, seeing Sam struggle. "Your freaky powers aren't going to work on me."

"Sacrifices for what?" Sam started to worry, no weapons, no special abilities, it seemed Raven had the upper hand here. Normally Dean would burst in and save the day right about now, but this time Dean hadn't a clue where he was or that Sam needed his help. _Not that Dean would want to save me even if he did._ "What did you do?"

Raven laughed, pointing to the ground, where he'd drawn a symbol on the floor boards beneath Sam's chair. "Good old Enochian binding symbol, keeps magic inside the circle. Or whatever it is you have."

"Why do you need sacrifices?" Sam tried again, straining against the ropes holding his hands together, they were tied tight.

"To bring my pets into the world." Raven replied, gesturing as a ghostly figure suddenly stepped into view.

Sam's pulse quickened, recognizing the spirit that had tried to possess him earlier. Whoever it was seemed bound to Raven somehow. "You're a necromancer." Sam snorted.

"I prefer, wizard, but yes, I guess that's what I am." Raven shrugged.

"You shouldn't be messing around with this stuff, you're going to get in over your head." Sam told him, eyes the spirit warily. "Trust me, it can get out of hand fast."

"You're one to talk." Raven sneered, stepping closer and gripping a fist full of Sam's hair, jerking his head back roughly. "Drinking demon blood and all." Sam averted his gaze, knowing this stranger was right. He had no room to talk. Sam fought down the bile that rose in his throat as the ghostly figure appeared by his side, running its freezing hand across his cheek. How did this guy know about the demon blood anyway?

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Raven slammed Sam's head against the back of the chair, pulling a grunt from the Winchester, before walking over to the wall and selecting a rusty sickle, letting one finger run along the jagged blade.

"How did you kill those people back at the house?" Sam asked, ignoring the way Raven looked at him like a piece of meat.

"With my pet." Raven waved his free hand at the spirit by his side. "He goes in, suffocates them while they slept enough to knock them cold and I go collect. Though he's not actually supposed to kill them. Cold blood doesn't work very well for the ritual." Raven shook his head, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "But he doesn't always do what I say. So. Lucky me, you came along."

"Ritual for what?"

"To summon and bind a demon, of course." Raven pointed to one corner of the room. Sam followed his finger, for the first time noticing a shallow basin over in one corner, placed on a table completely covered in different symbols and some various herbs. "I got everything else, now I just need blood, a lot of blood." He knelt down next to Sam so they were face to face. "See, I'm a nice guy. I wanted to collect from a few different people, so I didn't have to kill anyone. That's why I picked that family. But there's been a slight change of plans. And then you show up. And, well," Raven smiled sweetly, "I have no problem killing a Winchester."

"You don't want to summon any demons!" Sam growled, bucking his back against the chair, unfortunately, unlike most everything else in the filthy room would, the chair held solid. "Let me go."

"I can't do that." Raven smiled, sliding the blade in his hand across Sam's cheek, drawing blood that oozed slowly down his face. Sam's breath became more labored. "I need you."

"We are both going to die if you mange to bring a demon into this room." Sam hissed as the young man cut into his throat, eyes closing briefly, feeling warm liquid began to trickle down his neck.

"You're going to die, yes, unfortunately. That's what brings the demon."

This was crazy! Dean had been right, people's stupidity far outweighed the craziness of any monster they'd ever fought. He glanced down at the symbol encircling him, if he could scratch it a little it would become useless.

Raven brought a bowl, placing it under Sam's left wrist. He sliced deep into the soft flesh, causing Sam to groan as pain lanced up his arm. Obviously enjoying the torture, Raven drug the blade in an agonizingly slow ascent up Sam's forearm, while Sam bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"Ugh… shit!" Sam's head fell back against the top rail of the chair, his hand clenching rigidly, as the dull blade cut further up his arm. His breath turned ragged when Raven sliced a path for the blood to drip down the side of his forearm. "You really think a demon… is going to serve you?" he gritted out, giving a smug little grin. "It's going to eat you alive."

Smacking his hand across the hunter's face, snapping Sam's head to the side with the force of the unexpected blow, Raven glowered. "Shut up!"

Sam said nothing, only glared at Raven through the sweat soaked strands of hair falling in his vision. He didn't care if he died, he hardly had anything left worth fighting for, he wasn't about to give this son of a bitch any more pleasure by talking, if he somehow managed to escape he had all the information he needed.

Seemingly disappointed by Sam's stoic attitude, Raven cut another gash up the same arm. Sam gasped, straining against the ropes holding him down, his whole arm burned like someone had dripped acid in the open wound.

"You're good, I'll give you that. Most people would be begging me for their lives by now. Offering anything just for a chance I might untie them." Raven scowled at the hunter. "Why aren't you?"

Gritting his teeth, adrenaline fueling the strength in his voice, Sam growled. "Because. I don't care."

"That so?" Raven sneered, leaning in to whisper in Sam's ear. "I know what you did. Starting the apocalypse and all that."

"I was trying to stop the apocalypse." Sam said heavily. He could feel his pulse quickening as he continued to bleed out. His whole arm was starting to go numb, the sharp pain receding to a dull ache.

"Hm." Raven stood back up. "I want you to scream." Without warning he grabbed Sam's forearm and applied as much pressure on his could muster, using his finger to dig into the wound. Sam let out a sharp cry, gasping for air as renewed agony engulfed him.

"Stop…" he tried to sound pissed but his voice came out as more of a whimper. Closing his eyes, Sam allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of Dean, the physical pain faded some as he let the emotional turmoil enter his brain.

_I really miss you, Dean…_

"That's better, Winchester." Raven broke through Sam's thoughts. He removed his hand now covered in sticky, red liquid. "Stay here, I need to get another bowl for your other arm." With that he walked out the creaky door, leaving the ghost creature hovering ten or so feet away.

Ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine from the spirit's presence, Sam glanced down, worried by the amount of blood he saw pooling in the bowl. The gesture made him light headed for a moment, further attesting to the legitimacy of his concerns.

Knowing time was of the essence, Sam rocked the chair back and forth until one of the wooden legs stood over part of the symbol painted on the floor. The discolored floor boards appeared in decent shape, but he could see the signs of wear in spots where splinters were starting to peel up. If he could tear up the wood enough the symbol (and therefore the binding) would be broken.

Sam bit his lip as cold sweat trickled down his face and neck. He couldn't even feel his fingers anymore save for a vague tingling, and he was starting to get woozy. "Come now." He panted with exertion. The paint had started to rub off, but it wasn't enough, and Sam could hear footsteps returning.

 


	6. Of demons and angels

Dean spent most the night gathering the ingredients needed for the demon summoning ritual. Some of the herbs were a pain to find at the run of the mill grocery stores and he ended having to track down one of those hippy herbs shops. He'd had to go back out again to get a damn bowl and matches – being without his normal supply stash and car sucked big time. Basic ingredients he and Sam had long taken for grant suddenly had to be hunted down, without a ride, since he didn't want to steal a car until right before he left this town. He couldn't afford to be sloppy and get catch, and with his head elsewhere that turned into a real possibility.

Telling the cops he needed to do a bit of research, Dean had made his escape to put his less-than-genius plan into action. He'd checked out the security cameras before heading out despite both police officers saying they held nothing of value. The one from inside had been mostly black tape like the lady cop had told him, but the second one from outside, which pointed towards the area just outside the lobby showed a wave of people standing nervously in the parking lot during the same time the other one had blacked out.

Dean could see why the police hadn't been able to identify Sam, when the younger Winchester left the building he'd had his back to the camera the whole time, shoulders hunched as he walked through the crowd. But Dean would recognize that lanky frame and long mop of hair anywhere. Everyone had backed off Sam like they'd see a ghost, only serving to heighten Dean's fears. He had to find Sam, and fast!

After praying several times and, embarrassingly enough, pleading with Cas for aid he'd finally given up on the angel. Not even sincere apologies for his earlier insensitivities towards whatever issues Cas had going on were enough to convince the angel to make an appearance. Though, perhaps they weren't that sincere, for he couldn't help feeling Cas was being a bit of a drama queen. He could have stuck around and Dean would have gladly listened to his problems, but it had to be understood how important finding Sam was.

How could Cas not know that? Would it really have killed him to wait until Dean had a chance to check things out at the motel first? He'd thought Cas was family now, that Cas understood him, especially when the angel started flinging around sayings like "profound bond" and shit. He'd _thought_ they were best friends. Perhaps they didn't really know each other at all. They were, literally, a world apart after all.

With everything he needed finally in hand, Dean trudged back to the motel. He figured since the place had temporary closed due to be a crime scene no one would notice if he used one of the rooms for a few hours. He hoped to be gone before sunrise anyway.

Picking the lock, Dean slipped into the room on the far end of the building and threw everything he had on the floor, glancing longingly at the bed for a moment. Sleep sounded heavenly right now.

Rummaging through his backpack he found his last clean change of clothes, deciding he could at least spare time for a shower.

Stripping down to only his underwear, Dean splashed water on his face while waiting for the water to run hot in the shower, these old hotels always took a good five minutes to heat up.

Peering at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror, he noticed the faded handprint on his shoulder and scowled, it only served to remind him that he'd been pulled from hell to be a puppet in an angel war between Michael and Lucifer, not because Cas gave a rat's ass about him. His so called "best friend" had been an emotionless dick not too long ago.

Discarding his boxers, Dean pushed the thoughts aside as he slipped into the shower. He barely registered the physical sensations of warm water cascading down his body, totally focused on removing the taint left on him from Purgatory. He knew he couldn't wash off his feelings with water, but that didn't stop him from trying. He scrubbed every inch of his body roughly with the washcloth until his skin turned pink from the abuse.

Feeling only a little better, Dean toweled off and changed into the pair of jeans and a t-shirt, running a quick comb through his messy hair, before heading back into the main motel room and gathering all the things he needed to summon Crowley. The hunter drew the symbol on the carpet with spray paint he'd bought earlier and set the bowl in the middle. With shaky fingers he crushed the herbs and tossed them into the shallow, ceramic dish.

Dean knelt down, knife in hand, ready to add the last ingredient to the mixture. Yet he lingered, heart pounding in his ears in the silence of the motel room. Nausea nagged at the back of his throat, slight dizziness making him close his eyes from a moment. Dean knew it wasn't just lack of food and sleep affecting him – he despised the idea of asking Crowley for help.

"Cas…" he whispered, stalling the inevitable. "You really want to have to save my ass from hell again? We both know your last attempt at that worked out fabulously." He knew exactly why he said that; to hurt Cas. Of course he had no actual plans of selling his soul to Crowley, but considering Cas had zero sense of humor he wouldn't know that.

Perhaps he hadn't truly forgiven the angel for siding with Crowley over them, for releasing a bunch of leviathans into the world and, most importantly, for hurting Sam. Cas had pulled him from the cage without a soul, than broke the wall in his head keeping hidden all those memories from hell that only existed because Cas had done a poor job of saving Sam in the first place. His brother had nearly died because Cas took it upon himself to do more than he could handle.

When Cas unsurprisingly didn't show, Dean ignored the feeling of betrayal in his gut and sliced his palm, letting the blood drip on the herbs underneath his outreached hand. Quickly lighting a match before nerves could get the better of him, Dean flicked it into the bowl, stepping back as the bowl's contents burst into flames.

Scanning the room, Dean narrowed his eyes when Crowley didn't appear. Okay a little odd. He waited several moments, figuring the demon was just taking his sweet ass time.

Nothing happened.

"Seriously!" shouted Dean, kicking the dish in frustration, sending the now smoldering remains scattering across the floor. "Show yourself, you dick!" he felt his fury building with every second. He was _so_ done with all these stupid supernatural creatures!

After growling out a few choice cuss words directed at Crowley and Cas, Dean grabbed the bowl and set it on the tiny table in the corner. Reluctantly he decided to get in his four hours of shut eye and resume the search when the sun came up. He knew Sam like the back of his own hand, chances are he could guess which way he'd gone.

Sam had mentioned being in the Impala on the phone, but he'd sounded like he'd been awaken by the phone ringing. Dean hadn't heard any cars in the background, so if Sam had slept in the car he'd probably pulled off the road, and with no cars going by it seemed likely he'd taken an old highway, not the main drive. Smartest move really. Less cops or people in general to see him, definitely something Sam-like to do.

Relieved at finally having a plan of action that didn't depend on angels or demons, Dean let himself relax a bit, feeling his whole body slump with fatigue. He barely made it to the bed before collapsing, exhaustion pulling him towards sleep even as he struggled to remove his jeans and climb under the covers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel wandered the great expanse of heaven for hours, maybe days, he couldn't tell. Time had no real meaning here. He stayed mostly in the parts least ventured into by other angels, steering well clean of all the places he'd committed murder, too afraid to face his past. This left mostly, deep forests and the memories of new souls entering heaven. Angels rarely visited people until they'd reached their heaven and had had some time to adjust.

It seemed an angel named Naomi had taken over heaven, and she had sent a couple angels down to fetch Castiel. He'd fled as soon as he'd gotten to heaven, knowing they would eventually find him. But until than he wanted to be alone. He had no idea what Naomi wanted of him, but he'd be dead by now if that had been her intention.

Castiel had the feeling she wasn't going to let him go back to earth anytime soon though, angels weren't supposed to linger down there once their work was done.

Unfamiliar emotions clutched at his grace, emotions he perceived as fear and sadness. Guilt had followed him for some time and that he'd grown accustomed to, sorrow had started to affect him a bit after taking on Sam's hallucinations, but the fear was new and made him uneasy.

Humans, of course, felt these things all the time, so he gone to the only one he felt comfortable talking to about such private matters; Dean. But Dean hadn't wanted to listen, treating his distress as an inconvenience. Admittedly Castiel had a hard time with people skills but the hunter had hardly let him get in a word, let alone explain his concerns.

He'd sensed the other angels looking for him before they'd gotten there, without vessels, just like he'd known they would. He used his grace to meet them away from the motel, so they wouldn't harm Dean, and had managed to convince them to give him a few minutes alone with the hunter. He certainly wouldn't admit it to his brothers, but Castiel was terrified to return to heaven, and he knew from past experience Dean would assist him.

But Dean had been wary of him once he'd returned, turning hostile after the phone call. Castiel had never taken Dean's outbursts personally before, but this time it felt different, this time it _hurt_. Not physically really, this pain hit deeper, coursing through his grace like poison.

He could feel the anger and blame radiating off Dean like heat from a flame, and he'd coward away from it, knowing in that moment, deep down, Dean hadn't forgiven him his transgressions. Desperation had clawed at him as he'd tried to reason with an increasingly pissed off Dean. Finally he'd given up when Dean shoved him hard against the wall, hazel eyes filled with only hatred. The angel couldn't handle his new found emotions anymore.

_How can a few words uttered by a mere human cause so much torment_? Castiel knew he didn't deserve comfort, but had never thought it would be denied, he and Dean were friends and that's what friends did for each other.

Castiel realized now he'd been foolish thinking the Winchesters actually wanted him around. Why would anyone want a broken angel?

Dean prayed to him several times during his wanderings, some were pleads for aid in finding Sam, some seemed to be apologies, but others were clearly meant to hurt. Castiel shrugged them off, he didn't care, truly he didn't...

Something warm and wet escaped his eye, tickling his cheek, turning cold as the seconds passed. Castiel reached up to wipe it away. He stared at the glistening water on his fingers curiously, wondering why his eyes were leaking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Soft footsteps just outside the doorway alerted Sam to Raven's return. He paused from grinding the chair's leg against the floor, not wanting the other man to figure out his plan.

Raven smiled sweetly as he entered the storage shed, closing the door tightly behind him and waving a bowl casually around in his hand. "Got it." He said, covering the distance between himself and the hunter in a couple strides. Sam glared at him the best he could, his vision blurred a bit with every painful beat of his heart. Sam could make out Raven's clocked figure as the necromancer knelt down to check the almost full bowl from under his left arm. Raven nodded his approval and Sam suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

"Don't worry, it will all be over soon." Raven patted Sam on the knee before placing the new bowl under the hunter's right arm. Retrieving the sickle he'd used earlier he sliced up Sam's right forearm in the same torturously slow manner he'd used before. Sam found himself too weak to hold back the moan of pain that slipped past his chapped lips. The sickening sensation of warm fluid running down his skin sent involuntary shivers through his body.

Regret filled Sam's otherwise numb mind at the realization that he was most likely going to die, without even getting the chance to make up with Dean. He wished now he'd told his brother just how much he meant to him, that at least Dean would know Sam had never given up looking for him. These nuance details mattered to Dean; mattered to him.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw Raven carrying the first bowl, filled with his blood, over to the alter and slowly pouring the thick, red liquid into the shallow basin, stopping every so often to mix in some of the herbs.

"It's not too late… to stop this… madness." Sam huffed softly, his head lolling to the side as he spoke. He used his foot to lightly shift the chair, scraping it against the symbol still holding him captive, afraid to go too hard and make noise.

"You can still… walk away." His voice sounded far away even to his own ears, like he'd been plunged underwater, his head felt like it weighted too much for his neck to support. It was at this point during the time the ghouls had drained him out that Dean had rushed to his side, cut him free and stopped the stream of blood trickling into the collection vessel beneath, taking his very life with it. He chuckled dryly, had he always been a mere burden to his older brother? He couldn't recall the last time he'd done anything right. He could only remember Dean's disappointment, his anger, his mistrust.

_Maybe this is no less than I deserve._ Sam vaguely wondered how long he had before merciful unconsciousness claimed him.

"I don't think so." The sound of Sam's laughter made Raven turn to glare at him. "My whole life people like _you_ have been telling me what I can't do." He spat. "Well no longer. I'm going to show you, I'm going to show them all!"

Sam grimaced, balling his fists in a vain attempt to ease the pain in his right arm. His left arm was completely numb now and a quick glance told him it had all but stopped bleeding. He leaned his head back, trying to concentrate on the other man, his eyelids kept drooping, much to Sam's annoyance. "You wouldn't be showing anyone anything if you're… dead." His voice was even lower than normal. "Whatever you got going on, I can help you."

"You? Help me?" Raven emptied the rest of the blood into the basin and mixed in more herbs, humming softly. "Actually, you are helping me. By providing the blood needed to summon this demon."

"Come now…" Sam trailed off, struggling with the simple task of breathing around the building pressure in his chest. He felt like he was suffocating - dying sucked.

"Hush now, Winchester." Raven had returned to Sam's side without him even noticing. He took the other bowl and started the process again, slowing adding the blood to the mixture he already had going, pausing to throw more herbs in here and there.

It seemed to Sam to take hours, though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Raven stood now, hovering over the bloody basin, chanting a spell Sam couldn't understand through the fog enveloping his brain. The room flickered black, twice; before Sam willed himself to open his eyes. He didn't know why he fought the darkness, but he was a Winchester, and Winchesters didn't give up.

Raven finally fell silent, looking around expectantly. Sam would have rolled his eyes at the stupidity of someone being excited about summoning a demon, had dizziness not claimed him once more.

In a blink of an eye a women, probably late thirties, dressed in a black tank top and jeans, appeared behind Raven, startling the young man.

"Who dares summon me?" she demanded in a voice too booming for her size.

Sam immediately felt the demon's presence, the insatiable hunger quickly flooding his senses, washing over him like a tidal wave, drowning out all pain, all fear, all regret. Leaving nothing but a raw, unhindered craving that sent new energy surging through his veins. Sam threw all his weight against the chair, digging it deep into the floor board beneath him, dislodging a large splinter of wood.

Instantly, the wall around his mind crumbled. He immediately began fumbling with the ropes around his wrists, his powers weakened from blood loss. But nothing would keep him from the sweet nectar flowing just underneath the demon's skin, warm and damn near calling his name.

"You're mine." Raven's voice shook and Sam grinned evilly. He'd warned the poor boy and he just wouldn't listen.

"I don't think-" the demon surged forward, stopping when she heard Sam's voice.

"No, she's mine." The hunter's voice was strong, demanding, holding none of the earlier breathlessness.

"Wait just a minute!" Raven shouted into the room, regaining some of his smugness. "I summoned you, now you belong to me."

Sam glared, eyes dark with lust. He would have her, drink her dry, and Raven would not get in his way.

The demon glanced between the two for a second, confusion evident on her face, before settling her gaze on Raven. "You're going to die." She threw the young man against the wall with a flick of her hand, watching as he crumbled limply to the floor with a cry of pain. "No one calls me to serve them and gets away with it."

She picked Raven up by his throat with one hand, squeezing tightly until he started choking. Sam kept one eye on her while he struggled with the ropes, cursing under his breath as sweat poured down his forehead, getting in his eyes. The hunger made him clumsy, his mental grip kept slipping. Pure desire gnawed at his insides, demanding to be fed or else threatening to consume him. He swallowed down the saliva pooling in the back of his throat.

"S-Stop!" Raven cried, kicking weakly against the demon's stomach. She laughed at the pitiful gesture, flinging him against the wall again. He tried to crawl to his feet but slumped back, ribs heaving.

"I'm going to kill you slowly." She sneered, walking forward.

Sam felt the ropes around his wrists loosen. He quickly pulled his arms free, not even registering the pain lancing up his limbs as he gripped at the ropes around his chest and ankles.

In a moment he was free, jumping at the demon like a starved wolf. The sickle, still dripping with his blood, clutched tightly in his hand.

The demon let out a surprised hiss as he knocked her to the floor. She moved her arms to defend herself, but Sam overtook her without a struggle, trapping her body underneath his large frame as he cut a deep wound in her neck. He watched the blood gush from the wound with lust blown eyes before sinking his teeth into the soft fresh and sucking hard.

The sudden rush of power made Sam whimper with some sort of sick pleasure, it burned his throat, the smell of sulfur and iron filled his nose, the unpleasantly sweet aftertaste lingering on his tongue. But he welcomed it all, relishing in the sensations coursing through his very soul.

"Get off me!" she screamed, legs flailing uselessly.

Sam tossed his head back to gulp in some much needed air, his body shaking in the aftershock. Again happiness filled his existence for a few wonderful seconds, something quite rare in his life… The demon let out an ear shattering shriek as black smoke poured from the women's body, filling the small room with a menacing cloud above Sam's head before disappearing out the window.

With a grunt, Sam climbed off the now still body, slumping awkwardly to the floor. He put his hand out to catch himself, hissing as the twinge of injured muscles being pulled took his breath away. He fell hard on his rear, cradling his arm protectively against his chest.

Raven hadn't moved from his position on the floor and his spirit pet was gone. Sam figured he'd been knocked out by the demon.

Sam's hands shook as he cut two strips off his shirt and tried to tie them around his arms above the slashes to slow the blood flow. Luckily his thick jacket had blocked most of the salt from embedding into his flesh, but the skin still felt sensitive, making it all the harder to move without pain.

His makeshift tourniquet did very little to decrease the bleeding, his arms were just too weak to pull it tight enough, and the pain became almost unbearable as the blood high slowly dissipated. Panting with the simple act of staying upright he half sliced, half ripped two pieces off his flannel to apply pressure against the wounds.

A groan emitted from deep in Sam's throat as the rough fabric barely brushed against the abused flesh, sending bolts of agony through his body. Black spots dotted his vision and his head fell forward. His left arm, which had only been oozing sluggishly before, released fresh spurts of bright red blood as he feebly attempted to apply enough pressure to his right arm.

He had to get out of here, and fast! Before all the affects of the demon blood wore off. He doubted he'd even be conscious right now if it wasn't for the sweet poison burning inside him like fine whiskey.

_Got to find... car._ He desperately wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a week straight.

By some miracle, Sam hauled himself up off the floor, swaying as the room spun around him nauseatingly fast. He stumbled towards the door, walking like a drunken person from one supporting object to the next. He brought both arms to his chest, pressing them against each other as blood continued to drip a trail behind him.

Gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon, Sam leaned heavily on the door frame. It was dark outside now, the blackness broken only by a dim bulb overhead and a couple faint lights blurring in and out of focus to his left. He squinted, realizing the lights were streetlamps, far off, but not so far as to remove all possibilities of him making it there before he passed out.

Powered by demon juice and an unhealthy amount of adrenaline, Sam pitched forward, staggering with every step, amazed every time he didn't fall flat on his face. Each beat of his heart sent sharp pain stabbing through his skull; he contemplated giving up.

_D'n…_ His mind could barely put a word together, but he knew what he wanted. He wanted Dean. Wanted Dean here with him, wanted his brother to forgive him, just once more. To hear his gruff voice telling him not worry, to hear that "your big brother is going to take care of you" speech that normally annoyed the shit out of him. _You and me against the world._

Sam thought briefly of Cas, the angel could heal him if he actually showed up, wasn't that what he needed? His arms mended and the blood replaced? Yet he didn't pray to Cas, didn't long for mere physical comfort, his soul yearned for more.

_Dean._

Dean was who he wanted, who he always wanted, no matter how much crap lingered between them. Making amends with Dean suddenly seemed extremely important. His brother needed to know Sam hadn't intended this to happen, had never wished to hurt him. Dean needed to know Sam lamented all the times he'd let him down, that in spite of their differences their relationship meant the world to him. He'd pushed Dean away because he was unclean, to keep him safe from the monster his brother had become.

If he could locate the car, he had other phones, he could call Dean and explain everything, maybe he would understand…

Sam tripped over something obscured in the darkness, landing with a gurgled cry on the cold, hard ground. He accomplished a rough roll onto his side as he fell, preventing too much contact with his injured limbs. He remained motionless for a moment before lifting his gaze to stare blankly at the stars littering the night sky overhead, letting his back relax against the solid earth beneath him. The great expense spread out in all directions, like an inviting blanket of overwhelming beauty, beckoning him to surrender, to let peace take him. Giving up would be so easy. Dying would so much better for everyone.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight, Sam looked towards the lights; they were closer now, brighter. A familiar silhouette flickered into focus under the nearest street lamp. Sam's heart lurched in his chest, hope daring to bloom in his mind.

_Is that… Impala?_ Sam had to believe it wasn't just his delirious mind playing tricks on him. If there was a chance he had to fight for it. For himself, for _Dean_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos let me know I'm doing something right (or wrong if that's how you feel)


	7. Decisions

Sam had no recollection of how he actually made it all the way to the Impala, but he knew he'd never felt happier to see that black car than he did at that very moment. It seemed Raven had dragged him to the back acreage of the same house he'd been investigating, the shed wasn't visible from the road but Sam knew it couldn't be that far away. The town was small, and seemed to just melt into the forest around it once you got past the backyards of the houses.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sam leaned heavily against the car as he shoved his bloody hand gingerly into his back pocket, overwhelmed with joy to find the keys still there. His hand shook, almost making him drop the keys, as he tried to unlock the passenger door. He hoped if he drank some more demon blood he would have the strength and vigor to stitch the gashes on his arms. If he lost much more blood no amount of demon juice would make a difference.

He bit his lip, grunting in frustration as the keys scrapped uselessly against the metal. Dean would be so pissed if he knew Sam was scratching his precious car.

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips at the thought of his brother, even as his body slumped, heavy against the cool, smooth surface of the Impala, forcing Sam to grab the door handle to keep from falling. He hissed in pain as the movement aggravated his injuries, making them burn like hot embers were pressuring against his skin.

For the first time in his life he thanked Lucifer for all the inexplicable torture the archangel and put him through, for surely if he hadn't grown so accustomed to such intense pain he would have fainted by now.

 _My life is so messed up._ Sam closed his eyes, forehead resting against the top of the car, as he focused entirely on the feel of the keys in his blood slick hand. And _finally_ he felt the hard metal give wait as the key slipped into the hole with a soft click.

Barely managing to step aside so the door could open, Sam collapsed on the smooth leather seat, letting his head sag against the top of the back rest. The sense of familiarity at sitting in his usual spot eased his trouble minded slightly. He could almost close his eyes and pretend the last year had never happened.

Okay, maybe closing his eyes wouldn't be a good idea right now…

Keeping his arms applying pressure to each other the best he could, Sam reached down and grabbed the cooler at his feet. Blood dripped freely from both arms and splatters on the black leather beneath him. Wincing, he clumsily dug out a plastic bottle; the contents appeared black in the dim light of the street lamp.

None of the lust seized him this time, a sense of disgust filled him even as the blood slipped down his throat, some missing its mark and splashing down his neck and shirt.

 _I don't want this._ He thought, angry tears wetting the rims of his eyes. _I just want things to be the way they used to be…_ Sam's gaze turned to the empty seat next to him, a sad expression on his face. He just wanted Dean back. _I just want my brother! Is that too much to ask?_

He allowed the empty bottle slip from his fingers when a sudden warm feeling swept over him. It could be likened to the warm glow ones experiences at the first swig of whiskey. Except the glow spread out from his stomach, reaching his whole body in mere seconds. The sharp, painful pounding in his head and chest lessened to a dull ache, his vision cleared, and the desperate, panting of his breath calmed. The numbness in his limbs dissipated, making him gasp at the increase in discomfort that followed.

 _This can only mean…_ Sam shuddered as the realization hit him. Somehow his body was using the demon blood he'd drank to replace his own, literally turning him into more of a monster with every drop he ingested. His earlier resolution to call Dean crumbled as he wrapped his head around this new development. How had he not noticed this before? He supposed it didn't really matter, but in the back of his mind Sam couldn't help but think he should have known.

Pushing aside his guilty conscious, Sam walked around to the Impala's trunk, only having to lean lightly against the car's side to steady his body, and retrieved the first aid kit. He quickly returned to the front seat, steeling himself for what needed to be done.

Stitching himself always proved unpleasant during the best of times, but doing it at night, in the car, with only a street lamp for light was going to be nearly impossible.

Sam removed the rubbing alcohol, needles and thread from the canvas bag and set them on the dashboard. The alcohol wasn't the best option for cleaning out deep wounds but he didn't have a choice if he wanted to try and avoid infection.

Removing the cap Sam dumped the liquid over his left arm, hissing through gritted teeth as he muscles stiffened against the stinging pain. Quickly repeating the process with the other arm, he allowed his labored breathing to steady before ripping open the needle pack.

It took several tries before Sam succeeded in threading the needle. He removed his flannel, throwing the blood soaked pieces of cloth he'd had over the cuts to the floor of the Impala. Lightly dabbing at his arms, Sam tried to clear away some of the blood so he could see while he worked.

The lacerations were deep, and jagged from the dull blade. His left arm had two, though thankfully, it wasn't bleeding as bad as the right. As soon as he wiped away the blood more quickly pooled in the deep cuts and dripped on his pants in a never-ending current of red. He huffed in defeat; he would just have to go by feeling. Decidedly the left would be easier to start on, since Sam was right handed.

Biting down on a clean part of his flannel, Sam poked the needle through the bruised flesh around the bigger cut. His hand shook slightly as he worked, holding his breath against the pain. Even without good lighting Sam could tell the stitches were rough at best, but the only alternative happened to be sitting here and bleeding to death, which didn't sound too appealing.

The stitching went agonizingly slow, more than once Sam stabbed the needle too far forcing ragged grasps from his lips as the pain spiked in intensity for a few terrible seconds. When he finished with the left side he could already tell he hadn't gotten the muscles lined up well, each movement sent nerve grating twinges through his whole left side. But, blessedly, the bleeding had almost stopped.

Pausing for a brief moment to regain his composure, a thought occurred to Sam. Now that it appeared he might actually make it out of this mess alive, he'd need someone to take care of him. He only had so much demon blood and once that ran out he feared the effects of blood loss and injury would hit him full force. And if the strange phenomenon of his body using demon blood to replace his own was a reality he had no idea what the repercussions of that might entail. He hated the idea of going to a hospital; doubly so since he'd have to explain this somehow.

_Okay, Sam. Stop future tripping and focus on the task at hand._

With a sigh of determination, Sam started on his other arm, wincing as more blood leaked from the wound, trickling all over the younger Winchester and the upholstery surrounding him. If Dean were to see the inside of his baby right now he'd surely have a cow!

Once he'd finally finished his unpleasant task, Sam carefully wrapping his arms the best he could with the remaining pieces of his flannel. He wasted no time in digging around the Impala's glove box, trying to locate another phone without breaking one his stitches. To hell with all this, he needed to at least hear Dean's voice.

When his hand closed around a familiar object he felt a small sense of relief; until he remembered all the spare chargers were in the trunk of the car. Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to walk the distance, as small as it was, without collapsing so he opted against even trying. Sighing, he packed all the medical supplies back into the bag and stashed it under the seat with his foot.

Biting his lips against groans of pain, Sam slowly crawled over to the driver's side of the Impala and shoved the keys shakily into the emission. He'd spotted a foreclosed house on the way over, and as much as he wanted to get as far away from there as possible, he knew driving very far in his current condition was utterly out of the question.

The car's engine roared to life, the only sound in the otherwise deserted street. This whole place still gave him the creeps, having the sneaking suspicion Raven had only been part of a bigger evil at work. But he wasn't about to stick around to fine out.

Praying his strength lasted long enough to get him out of harm's way, Sam swung the car around and drove off.

No more than ten minutes pasted before the symptoms of blood loss and shock started to kick in again. Sam cursed under his breath and grabbed more blood from the cooler, perhaps his earlier assumptions had been wrong. But if that were the case this just brought up more questions.

The old house he pulled up that had a foreclosure sign swinging in the front yard sat a ways off the road and had been completely overrun by brushes and vines. The driveway leading up to it was gravel and full of potholes. There were no fences in obstructing his path so Sam pulled the Impala around back to keep hidden from the road.

The place appeared to have been built at least fifty years ago and hadn't seen proper maintenance in probably half that long. The windows were boarded and no-trespassing signs littered the walls and dirt surrounding the house.

Sam groggily heaved himself upright enough to grab a blanket from the backseat, grunting softly as the movement caused increased discomfort on his wounds. His original plan had been to crash _inside_ the house but the exhaustion pulling him towards oblivion quickly dismantled that idea.

Shivering, Sam wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, using his jacket as a pillow and soon drifted off into a restless sleep. Hopefully he'd have more strength in the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Castiel."

The dark haired angel looked up abruptly from his position sitting on a fallen log at the sound of his name. He found himself looking into the eyes of a female Rit Zien, one he recognized as Sarah. She tilted her head slightly at him in a silent inquiry, her wavy blonde hair falling into her eyes.

"Hello, Sarah." Castiel greeted calmly, returning his gaze to the creek he'd been watching earlier. He found the soft sound of the water bubbling over the rocks soothing. He knew she posed no threat to him, she simply felt his pain and had been drawn to it. Rit Zien angels only healed, and killed suffering angels when necessarily, they rarely medaled in the affairs of the warrior angels, preferring to remain neutral and perform their jobs without biase.

"Castiel." She said again, moving closer. Her tiny vessel would barely measure past Castiel's chest had they been standing side by side, she couldn't be more than five feet tall and appeared barely older than a teenage. Castiel wondered if she'd picked this girl on purpose. Sarah was a relatively young angel, maybe she felt connected to this human somehow.

"I feel your pain." Sarah stated calmly, no emotion in her voice, like she was merely talking about the weather. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing you can assist me with." Castiel replied heavily, not meeting her gaze.

"You are wrong." He felt her place a comforting hand in his shoulder. "I can help you if you let me."

"Why would you want to help me?" Castiel questioned, his eyes searching her face for any signs of her motive. "After what I did, all the angels I killed. Why would anyone in heaven want anything more than for me to suffer?"

"Because even after all that, you are still one of us." Sarah replied as if the reason should be obvious.

"How can you say that?" a measured about of anger made its way into the angel's voice. If he couldn't accept himself how dare anyone else try to?

"No matter what you do, you'll always be an angel. There are those amongst us who still feel you have a valuable place here with us. You only need accept our help and let us wash your mind of the pain these human emotions cause."

Castiel sighed, not trusting his voice not to crack if he spoke. He wanted to believe the things she said, wanted so badly to fix all the mayhem and angst he'd caused, and maybe he could if he allowed the other angels to help him. He felt the hand on his shoulder brush against his neck and a wave of peace washed over him, chasing away the turmoil he'd been battling for so long. It didn't completely disappear, but it retreated to the back of his mind where he could look at it logically instead of drowning in the moment like he'd been. And just like that the choice became clear.

Mind made up, Castiel turned his icy blue eyes to lock with Sarah's brown ones, before he could turn back on his decision. "I want your help."

Sarah smiled. "Good choice."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wakey wakey, Dean."

Someone was whispering in his ear, or was he dreaming? Dean shifted away from the sound with a groan, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the annoyance.

"I haven't got all day. Though I do fancy you from this angle."

What? Dean was instantly awake, instinctively reached for the knife under his pillow and twisting around in the bed, fighting the sheets holding his legs hostage. "Get back!" he warned, swinging the knife in front of his face.

"Well." The voice chuckled drily. "I was expecting a warmer welcome from the person who summoned me, but that's what I get thinking a Winchester could possibly be hospitable."

"Crowley?" Dean grumbled, finally laying eyes on the demon standing at the foot of his bed with a shitty grin on his face. He lowered his blade and glanced at the window, the sun had just started to rise above the mountains and dim light filtered in through the cracks in the ratty curtain. He figured it was about six in the morning. He'd overslept.

"'ello, Dean. It's been too long." Crowley said in his normal flirty voice.

"Not nearly long enough, if you ask me."

"Might I remind you; you called me." Crowley supplied, walking closer to Dean as the hunter untangled his legs from the covers and hopped out of bed, facing the demon with a cold expression on his freckled face. "Though you might get a quicker response in the future if you bothered to make social call once in a while. You know, as foreplay." He smirked. "Instead of just demanding my services whenever darling Samantha has her period."

"Ever hear of knocking?" Dean gritted his teeth in annoyance, even though he wanted the demon's help; Crowley was the last person he wanted to see in the morning, or anytime really.

"Psh!" the demon rolled his eyes, gaze falling on the empty bed next to them, eyebrows shooting up in question. "Where is Moose anyway? I have a bone to pick with him."

Rubbing a hand down the nape of his neck, Dean sighed deeply, eyes narrowed slightly. "He's not here."

"You two have another lovers spat? I don't normally deal with domestic disputes; too messy."

Dean clenched his jaw angrily. "Look, Crowley. I've been in Purgatory the last year, slicing and dicing my way through all the world's fines, and I wouldn't mind doing the same to you. So let's skip the chit chat and get right do the reason I summoned you."

"I like it when you talk rough, makes my lower regions all tingly."

Dean gripped the knife handle tightly, veins in his neck bulging from the effort of keeping his cool. He gave the demon a death stare, daring him to make another comment thick with sexual subtext.

"Okay, fine." Crowley pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What'd you want?"

"I need you to use you witchy powers and tell me where Sam is." Dean answered as calmly as possible.

"Hmm." Crowley snorted. "And why would I do that? Doubtful you have anything I want in trade and I'm not that fond of Moose at the moment."

"Come on, Crowley!" Dean all but shouted, resisting the urge to ask why Sam seemed higher on the demon's shit list than normal. "I'll do anything you want, I just need to find my brother."

Smiling, Crowley turned his back and walked over to the bowl sitting on the table, pinching the burnt remains of the herbs lining the bottom between his fingers. "Anything, you say?" the demon sounded mildly intrigued.

"Yeah, sure. Now are you going to help me or not? Because if not get the hell out of here so I can wake up and get some coffee."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at that but nodded. "I suppose you could owe me a favor, just this once."

"What?" Dean questioned in disbelief, not sure he'd heard correctly. "I can owe you favor? Why?" he tilted his head.

Again Crowley rolled his eyes and Dean had to restrain his desire to punch the smugness straight off that annoying demon's face. "Guess I'm in a generous mood."

"Yeah, that never happens."

"Well, in that case, I guess I'll be on my way." Crowley made like he was going to snap his fingers and vanish but Dean stepped forward, not wanting to lose his chance at getting an exact location on Sam. As much as he loathed the demon, finding his brother took first priority.

"Wait!"

"What's this?" Crowley sneered, slowing lowering his hand. "Desperate for my help after all?"

Sighing, Dean sauntered over and stared the shorter man in the eyes. "What do you need for the spell to work?" he demanded, wanting to be done and on the road as soon as possible. _This is crazy, I can't believe I'm trusting Crowley again._

"You really like ta just bend 'em over, don't you?"

 _Oh my god!_ Dean massaged his temples while Crowley watched with a bored expression.

Perhaps tiring of his own game the demon relented. "Simple really, I just need something near or dear to the distressed damsel's heart."

"What?" Dean shook his head. "What does that mean?"

"Just what I said." Crowley's voice rose in obvious irritation. "An item Sam either owns and or holds dear, how is that so hard to wrap your brain around?"

"I don't have anything of his!" Dean yelled, sending the bowl and ashes flying to the floor with a swing of his hand. "I've been locked in Purgatory for a year!"

"So I heard."

"This is bullshit!" the hunter shoved his finger in Crowley's face. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"My bad, I just assumed you two had matching friendship bracelets, maybe a couple promise rings, or some other trinket pledging your undying love for each other, no?" He smirked when Dean gave him a withering look, than in a more pissed off voice added. "I don't make up the rules, I just play by them!"

Dean paced back and forth, huffing his displeasure as he walked, raking his brain for anything he might have that would to the trick. Crowley appeared delighted by Dean's distress and that just made him want to choke the demon out in cold blood.

"What about me?" Dean wondered out loud, turning a hopeful gaze to the demon. He wasn't sure what he even meant by that; but hey, Sam cared about him right? Well maybe not… he winced at the thought of their last phone call.

Crowley's forehead winkled in amusement before he snorted. "Unless you fancy bursting into flames, I would strongly advise against it."

Dean felt panic start to take hold, he had to find Sam no matter what it cost! Except, maybe bursting into flames.

"Though," Crowley placed a finger on his lips as if thinking. "there is one other way."

"And you didn't think to mention this to begin with?" Dean growled.

"Well, I didn't think you'd be up for it, you two are such good friends and all, but you appear quite desperate so I figured I'd at least throw it out there for consideration just in case. I do love a good family betrayal story, or whatever he is to you." Crowley smiled sweetly at Dean's confusion. "Did Cas make it out with you by chance?"

"Cas?" Dean's frown eased and his eyes widened at the sudden one eighty the conversation had taken. The demon cocked one eyebrow, waiting for the hunter to elaborate.

"Yeah. Yeah, Cas made it out."

Smiling, Crowley nodded once. "Good, I have a little present for him." He dug in his suit pocket and produced a small glass orb about the size of a golf ball. It shimmered slightly in the room's dim light and Dean could see the color was made up entirely of different shades of red, which appeared to be swirling around each other beneath the glass's surface.

"Is that a ball of blood?" Dean asked, not even wanting to know.

"No. Catch."

Half anticipating something bad happening, Dean caught the orb easily in his fingers, fighting the urge to flinch. But nothing happened; his fingers didn't erupt into flames and he didn't grow a second head. He looked at the demon inquisitively.

Crowley sighed dramatically, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I said it was for the angel, not you, ya nimrod."

"What does it do?"

"Aha, ah. Sorry, spoilers."

"I'm not giving this to Cas, I'm sure it's nothing good, I'm not that dumb."

"Dumb? Maybe not." Crowley tilted his head to the left, pressing his lips together in satisfaction. "But desperate? I think so. You do want to find baby brother, don't you?"

Swallowing down the sudden pang of guilt, Dean played the ball between his fingers, hesitating as he mulled over his options. Cas was an angel, he could totally handle any spell infused trinket the King of Hell "gifted" him - right? Making up his mind, the hunter shoved the glowing orb in his jacket pocket before hurriedly putting the piece of clothing on. _I'm sorry, Cas._

"Okay, let's get this show on the road."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, I need insure you're actually going to go through with your end of the bargain, which is giving that orb thingy to your boyfriend the next time you two cross paths. It would make a perfect engagement gift, don't you think?"

Dean knew correcting the demon was pointless, but his facial features made it quite clear he wasn't impressed.

Tracing a line along his palm with his pinky finger, producing a small stream of blood, Crowley held out his hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

In turn Dean cut his corresponding palm with the blade of his knife and grasped the demon's outstretched hand. "What happened to, you don't make the rules?"

"This isn't a witch trick, this is a demon deal." Crowley winked before vanishing into thick air.

Dread closed around Dean's heart like a vice grip trying to squeeze the life out of him. What had he done? Since when had a deal with a demon worked out for the Winchesters? Or anyone for that matter. Deep down, past all the hurt and betray, he still cared a great deal about Cas and didn't want anything bad to happen to the angel on his account. He took the glass ball out and glanced at it for a moment, marveling at the way the thick red patterns into seemed like a whole other world.

_Cas, if you're out there, listen to me. Don't ever come back._

He had no time to pray more because Crowley suddenly reappeared in front of him holding a small piece of paper. Dean quickly stuffed the orb back in his pocket and took the paper from the demon.

"There's Samantha's current address. So don't even think about trying and weaseling out of our little deal, you're blood bound. Things don't end well for people who try double cross me."

As soon as Crowley left Dean punched the address into google maps on his phone and found out the address was in Sapulpa, OK, about seven hours drive from where he was. He had confidence he could made it there in five though.

Quickly gathering his few belongings and slinging his backpack over his shoulders Dean headed over the door.

"I'm comin', Sammy." He muttered softly.


End file.
